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MOLIERE: A BIOGRAPHY

OFTKE *T\

UNIVERSITY I

Moliere as Mascarille

M O L I E R E

A BIOGRAPHY

H. C. CHATFIELD-TAYLOR

WITH AN INTRODUCTION

THOMAS FREDERICK CRANE C'

Professor of the Romance Languages in Cornell University

ILLUSTRATIONS BY

JoB

NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY

1906

BY
DUFFIELD & COMPANY

Published September, 1906

THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.

CONTENTS

PAGE

AUTHOR'S PREFACE xi

INTRODUCTION xvu

I. CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH J

II. MADELEINE BEJART AND THE ILLUSTRIOUS

THEATRE 19

III. THE COMEDIANS OF THE DUKE OF EPERNON . 35

IV. EARLY DRAMATIC EFFORTS 5°

V. THE COMEDIANS OF THE PRINCE OF CONTI . 65

VI. PARISIAN SUCCESS 84

VII. LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES 101

VIII. THE END OF APPRENTICESHIP 119

IX. ARMANDE BEJART *35

X. THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES AND ITS COROLLARIES 155

XI. MOLIERE THE COURTIER l8l

XII. THE POET MILITANT 202

XIII. THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 231

XIV. THE MISANTHROPE 254

XV. MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 279

XVI. MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 3°6

154915

viii CONTENTS

PAGE
XVII. THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 331

XVIII. DEATH 358

APPENDIX 381

CHRONOLOGY 409

BIBLIOGRAPHY 419

INDEX 435

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Moliere as Mascarille Frontispiece

The Pont Neuf . Facing page 8

Moliere's Chariot of Thespis „ „ 40

Moliere in the Role of Barber „ „ 76

The Nymph of Vaux „ „ 132

Armande Bejart and Moliere „ „ 144

Moliere and Bellocq making the King's Bed . . „ „ 186

The Soldiers invading the Theatre „ „ 234

The Medical Faculty of Paris „ ,,282

" What ! a sepulture is denied a man worthy of

altars!" „ „ 378

AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

IN writing this biography the aim has been to tell the
story of Moliere's life for English readers. With this
in view, I have translated all the quoted passages,
whether in prose or verse, using English heroic measure
for the excerpts from Moliere's versified plays. The
French classic form is the Alexandrine rhymed couplet,
a metre ill according with the genius of our language ;
hence it has seemed wiser to employ the blank verse
measure of our own dramatic poetry rather than to
attempt a rendering of Moliere's rhymed hexameters in
English. Manifestly it is impossible for such transla-
tions to retain the melodious rhythm of the original.
My sole aim has been to suggest rather than convey the
charm of Moliere's imagery, and to embody the spirit
rather than the letter of his verse. The student may
find in the Appendix the quoted poetical passages in the
original French.

As the intention has been to interpret Moliere's life
by his plays and his plays by his life, rather than to
write an exhaustive criticism of his dramatic works, in the
chapters devoted to the comedies more attention has
been given to those concerned with his life than to pieces
written mainly for stage purposes or to adorn some court
festivity.

The titles of Moliere's plays, as well as those by other
authors of the period, have been translated, except when

xii AUTHOR'S PREFACE

a title is etymologically the same in both languages ; as
in the case of Corneille's Andromede or Moliere's Le
Misanthrope, in which instances the English equivalent
alone has been used. The first time a play is mentioned,
however, or when it becomes the subject of special com-
ment, the French title is given in parenthesis. In all
other cases the English translation is preferred, save in
the rare instances when a title such as Les Precieuses
ridicules is translatable only in a circumlocutory way.
French rules of capitalisation differing from our own,
the method adopted by MM. Despois and Mesnard in
their edition of Moliere's works has been used in the
printing of French titles.

The bibliography contains the titles, authors, and,
whenever possible, the original date of publication of the
works consulted or quoted in the preparation of this
volume. The authorities for important passages are
given in the footnotes.

In nearly every case it has been possible to examine
and compare the passages cited with the original authori-
ties ; but, being compelled by illness to leave France be-
fore the work was completed, here and there reliance has
been placed upon the readings in the definitive edition
of Moliere's plays (CEuvres de Moliere, Collection des
Grands Ecrivains de la France)^ the earlier volumes of
which appeared under the editorship of M. Eugene
Despois, the work after his death being carried to superb
completion by M. Paul Mesnard.

The reader seeking original sources will find the prin-
cipal of these in La Grange's famous Registre ; in the
preface to the edition of Moliere's works edited by La
Grange and Vinot and published in 1682 ; in Moliere's
biography by J.-L. le Gallois, known more generally as the

AUTHOR'S PREFACE xiii

" Sieur de Grimarest " ; in the biography attributed to
Bruzen de la Martiniere, and in the biographical sketches
made by Perrault and Bayle. To these should be added
the gossipy chronicles of Tallemant des Reaux, De Vize,
Loret, Robinet, Brossette, and other contemporaries of
Moliere, as well as two scurrilous libels written by the
poet's enemies, details of which are fully set forth in.
Chapter II. When a few historical works, such as the
histories of the French stage of the period by Chappu-
zeau and the Brothers Parfaict have been added, together
with the invaluable documentary discoveries of Beffara,
Jal, and Soulie, a fairly complete repository of knowledge
regarding Moliere has been catalogued.

Although there have been many modern French biog-
raphers of the poet since Taschereau, the first of them,
the Notice biographique of M. Paul Mesnard (Vol. X,
CEuvres de Moliere) is by far the most scholarly and
trustworthy ; next in accuracy is M. Louis Moland's La
Vie de J.-B. P. Moliere, while from the^human point of
view M. Gustave Larroumet's La Commie de Moliere is
decidedly the most interesting. Mention should be
made, too, of the Molieriste magazine, so ably edited for
ten years (1879-1889) by M. Georges Monval, the dis-
tinguished archivist of the Comedie Francaise and this
same writer's Chronologic Moli'eresque. Le Theatre fran^ais
sous Louis XIV by Eugene Despois is another work in-
valuable to students.

The reader wishing to pursue further the study of
Moliere in English will find Mr. Henry M. Trollope's
The Life of Moliere a painstaking and accurate work,
and Moliere and his Times by the Danish writer Karl
Mantzius (English translation by Louise von Cossel), a
pleasing and scholarly treatise upon the French stage of

xiv AUTHOR'S PREFACE

the seventeenth century. A charming and accurate
picture of the theatrical life of the period may be found
in Shakespeare in France by his Excellency J. J. Jusse-
rand, the present ambassador of France to the United
States. Although no edition of Moliere's plays at once
satisfactory and complete has yet appeared in English,
the translation by Miss Katherine Prescott Wormeley is
decidedly the best.

A word upon the illustrations. Aided by M. Georges
Monval, the artist, M. Jacques Onfroy de Breville
(JoB), has examined the original documents and plates
contained in the archives of the Comedie Francaise, the
Bibliotheque nationale, etc. Moreover, the costumes of
the Comedie Fran9aise and the Theatre de 1'Odeon have
been placed at his disposal. The famous arm-chair
from Gely's barber shop at Pezenas, known as the
fauteuil de Moliere, and the interior of the shop have
been reproduced in the illustration representing Moliere
in the role of amateur barber; while for the drawing in
which he and the poet Bellocq are making the King's
bed, the room of Louis XIV in the palace at Versailles
having been altered considerably in 1701, the original
architect's drawing in the Estampes nationales was used
for the decorative features. In the sketch depicting
Armande Bejart in Moliere's room, the furniture and
effects have been reproduced from the description given
in the inventory of the poet's property made a few
weeks after his death ; in fact in every instance the artist
has used the utmost care in making his illustrations
historically exact.

Having been aided in the gathering of my material by
the invaluable assistance of M. Jules Claretie, director of
the Comedie Francaise, M. Leopold Mabilleau, director

AUTHOR'S PREFACE xv

of the Musee Social , M. Georges Monval, archivist of
the Comedie Francaise and M. Truffier, a notable sod-
etaire, I wish to take this opportunity of thanking these
distinguished Frenchmen for their courtesy. To Mr.
Wallace Rice I am indebted for technical suggestions
regarding the metrical translations ; to Professor Crane I
wish to express my gratitude for the encouragement and
help he has extended me throughout the preparation of

this work.

H. C. CHATFIELD-TAYLOR.

LAKE FOREST, ILLINOIS,
July fir sty 1906.

INTRODUCTION

THE Age of Louis the Fourteenth is attracting just now
the attention of the "general reader" through the
translation of memoirs and such brilliant historical
monographs as Madame Barine's Youth of la Grande
Mademoiselle and Louis XIV. and la Grande Mademoiselle.
Society at Versailles and in the salon of the Hotel de
Rambouillet is fairly well known, and the visits of French
actors to this country maintain a certain degree of ac-
quaintance with the classical drama of the seventeenth

century.

Interesting as is the political history of that period,
its social and literary history is even more attractive and
instructive. It was during this time that modern polite
society was constituted and conversation raised to the
level of an art. Literature, abandoning the slavish imita-
tion of antiquity which characterised the sixteenth cen-
tury, followed the models of Greece and Rome in a free
and independent manner, and no matter how classical
may be the form of this literature it is the exact reflection
of the national spirit.

To understand this literature, then, we must bear in
mind some of the characteristics of the monarchy under
Louis the Fourteenth. That king, it is true, has quite
erroneously received the entire credit for the literature
and art developed in the previous reign under the en-
lightened patronage of Richelieu. Still, no great injus-

xviii INTRODUCTION

tice is done to Louis the Thirteenth or to Richelieu in
attributing the glory of Corneille to the Age of Louis
the Fourteenth. It was the latter monarch who settled
the political and religious quarrels which had come down
from his father's reign, and established the most absolute
and unquestioned regime of modern times. Some of the
results of this regime are the absence, until late in the reign,
of political and religious discussion, and an attitude toward
the person of the monarch little short of adoration. As
society is excluded from intellectual activity involving
politics and religious controversy, it is forced to direct
its attention to itself and to examine its constituent parts.
Never have there been such absorbing study of mankind
and such profound knowledge of the human heart. The
maxims of La Rochefoucauld resume the interminable
discussions of the drawing-room upon the mainsprings
of human action, and the interest of Corneille's dramas
is largely an ethical one arising from the conflict of duty
and inclination. The large and varied literature repre-
senting this tendency of the age will always preserve
its universal interest, and Pascal, La Bruyere, and La
Rochefoucauld belong to the literature of the world.

Next in interest is the dramatic literature of the period,
which, with the exception of one author, finds with diffi-
culty appreciation among English readers. It is usual
to attribute the fact to the form of the French classical
drama and to the failure of the attempt to naturalise
this form in England. A French classical tragedy
represents one action which takes place within twenty-
four hours in one locality. The result of the compres-
sion of the action is that the French tragedy begins with
the denouement of the Shakespearean tragedy, for ex-
ample ; the result of the rule of the one locality is that

INTRODUCTION xix

all events which do not occur in the prescribed spot, and
there must necessarily be many such, have to be narrated
and not represented. For this reason, and from the
French fondness for declamation, monologues abound
and check the feeble current of action. The outward
form of the play, the Alexandrine verse of twelve sylla-
bles, with its obligatory pause at the sixth, and the
couplets rhyming alternately in masculine and feminine
rhyme (that is, with rhymes containing an e mute, and
those which do not) seems monotonous and sing-song.
In addition to all this, for reasons which cannot be given
here, the subjects of French tragedy were, in the seven-
teenth century, taken exclusively from Bible (Old
Testament) history or from Greek and Roman history

and legend.

We often wonder how plays so artificial could have
interested (and we know that they did) French audi-
ences for so long a period. It must, however, always
be remembered that, artificial as these plays were, they
were instinct with the spirit of the times. The grandiose
reign of Louis the Fourteenth found its expression in the
sonorous verse and lofty sentiments of Corneille's heroes,
while Racine reflected the gallantry of the age in his
somewhat languishing Greeks and Romans. In the
tragedies of both the characters spoke the artificial lan-
guage of the day, and Moliere himself, even when he
was ridiculing this affectation, could not escape from it.

The limitations of French classical tragedy apply
equally to the comedy of the seventeenth century, but
not with the same injurious effects. The author is not
confined to historical or quasi-historical, plots, but may
invent or borrow plots to suit his purpose. He may
also abandon the form of verse and employ prose, but he

xx INTRODUCTION

will run the risk of offending the taste of his audience
if he uses prose for anything but farce. Comedy, then,
is a freer form, and, as it deals with ordinary mortals and
not with kings or heroes, is of more universal interest
than tragedy. Then, too, French comedy is not an
exotic plant like classical tragedy, but is the regular
development of elements as old as French literature
itself. Between French classical tragedy and the serious
drama of the middle ages lies the gulf of the Renaissance:
the comic drama has an unbroken history. It required,
however, a long series of efforts to raise the mediaeval
farce to the dignity of comedy and to free it from
the influence of Italy. Here, again, the genius of
Corneille made itself felt, and Le Menteur (1642) is
as epoch-making as the Cid (1636).

For these and other reasons French comedy is more
intelligible and attractive to the foreign reader than
French tragedy, and the one great writer of comedy,
Moliere, has peculiar claims to his interest.

The fame of Moliere, even in France, has over-
shadowed the glory of Corneille and Racine, and out of
France Moliere is now the only one of the great trium-
virate familiar to those who are not students of French
literature. There is in France and out of France a cult
of Moliere, just as there is a cult of Dante, Shakespeare,
Goethe, and Browning. The cause of this pre-eminence
of Moliere must be sought not only in his works but
in his life.

The greatest dramatist of the modern world and the
one whom the French would willingly place at his side
were both actors as well as writers of plays, and so great
is the glamour of the stage that Shakespeare and Moliere
are far more interesting characters to us than Marlowe or

INTRODUCTION xxi

Webster or Corneille or Racine. Of the two, Moliere is
in our minds the one more intimately associated with the
stage. From the time he was twenty-one to the very
day of his death in his fifty-first year he was acting con-
stantly, and for nine years he was the husband of an
actress. Of Shakespeare's career as an actor we know
almost nothing, but from 1658 to 1673 we can follow
Moliere almost from day to day in his theatrical roles.
We have the description of his acting by his contempora-
ries and his own defence of his method. We possess
even portraits of him in his serious and comic parts.
Indeed, the story of Moliere's life is largely the history v
of his company, and his comedies, on which his fame
rests, were due to the exigencies of his position as
manager. The publicity of the actor's profession is the
greatest of its many disadvantages, and the man is usu-
ally lost in the player. This is the case with Moliere,
and we catch glimpses only of his private character.

But from whatever standpoint we regard it, the life of
Moliere was singularly interesting, and for fifteen years
belongs almost to the public history of France. This
life falls under three divisions : the first twenty-one years
(1622-1643) °f general education, and it is always well
to remember that Moliere enjoyed the best training
of his times; the fifteen years (1643-1658) of appren-
ticeship to his profession, twelve of them spent as a
wandering actor in the provinces ; and the last fifteen
years (1658—1673) of managerial success and literary
glory in Paris. It is these fifty-one years of toil, dis-
couragement, and fame which Mr. Chatfield-Taylor has
undertaken to depict in the following work, and I may
say, since these lines will not meet his eye until after
publication, that I think he has accomplished his diffi-

xxii INTRODUCTION

cult task with singular success, and has given a vivid
and correct picture of Moliere the Man, the Actor, and
the Dramatist.

The materials for these three phases of Moliere's life
are not equally profuse or important. There are gaps
that we can fill only by the exercise of our imagination,
— a dangerous factor in biography. We often lament
our limited knowledge of Shakespeare's private life and
character, although the materials for forming an impres-
sion of them are not so scanty as is generally supposed.
We must remember that in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries the actor's profession was under a social ban,
and it did not occur to Shakespeare's or Moliere's con-
temporaries to preserve their memories as they did
those of statesmen and warriors. Grimarest, the author
of the first independent biography of Moliere (1705),
was criticised because " he had taken as much pains with
his work as if it had been the life of a hero," and was
taxed with ignorance of etiquette in calling Moliere
Monsieur, " a title which did not at all belong to him,
as he was an actor, that is to say, a man of an ignoble
profession." It is unfortunate that most of the per-
sonal details concerning Moliere are due to his enemies,
but when used with proper care they tell us much that
is valuable and interesting about Moliere's appearance
and manner of acting, and even contain historical infor-
mation which we should seek in vain elsewhere.

Still, as has already been said, there are in Moliere's
history unfortunate gaps that we cannot fill. We are
not acquainted with the particulars of his early life and
education ; his first theatrical ventures are obscure ; the
long years spent in the provinces are known largely by
civil and notarial documents establishing the presence of

INTRODUCTION xxiii

Moliere and his company in a certain locality at a certain
date. After the final return to Paris in 1658 we are
embarrassed by the profusion of materials, dealing, it is
true, almost exclusively with the management of the
company and the literary life so inseparably connected
with it. With Monval's convenient chronology of Mo-
liere (Chronologic Molieresque, Paris, 1897) in his hand,
the reader can follow year by year the life of the great
dramatist from his birth to his death, and woven in
with it the synchronous social, political, and literary
events of the period. To the student who knows thor-
oughly these three phases of the age such a chrono-
logical table might well be the most satisfactory life of
Moliere, but the " general reader " must have this knowl-
edge supplied to him in a judicious form, and, above
all, must have Moliere brought for him into proper
relations with his times.

This is no easy task for the biographer. He must
retrace the history of the drama in order that we may
understand the peculiar forms of Moliere's plays and the
milieu in which the actor lived. He must depict the
society which Moliere satirised and describe the literary
movements of the day. The biographer will be tempted
to lay undue stress upon some one of the phases of
Moliere's life according to his own tastes and interests.
Moliere the Man and Actor will be lost in the Dramatist,
or will appear only as a figure in the history of the
French stage. These seem to me the faults of the two
most recent works devoted to Moliere. One is over-
loaded with literary and financial details concerning the
separate plays, the other conveys no idea of the personal-
ity of Moliere.

The author of the present life of Moliere has long

xxiv INTRODUCTION

been a serious student of the French drama, and it is
pleasant for the writer of these lines to recall the time
when Mr. Chatfield-Taylor was his pupil at Cornell
University in classes devoted to the study of French
society and literature in the seventeenth century. Our
biographer has been able to pursue this study since in
the home of Moliere and to collect everything of value
relating to his subject. The result is a life of Moliere
both scholarly and popular, in which the man stands
out vividly in the midst of his managerial and literary
labours.

Mr. Chatfield-Taylor's book cannot fail to interest
even the reader who knows no French, and should be an
incentive to acquiring a knowledge at first hand of plays
which are not particularly difficult to read in the original.
This is certainly true of the plays in prose ; the plays in
verse are naturally more difficult, but they, or similar
plays, are read by pupils in our schools after a year's
study of French.

Prolonged study of the seventeenth century in France
has impressed me more and more with its extraordi-
nary social and literary interest, to say nothing of its
picturesque political history. A great mass of memoirs
and letters, many of them of the highest literary value,
enable the reader to form a vivid idea of the period.
Moliere, above all, presents the most perfect picture
of the society of the Age of Louis the Fourteenth in its
various aspects. And this picture is ever fresh and
attractive because its interest depends on the portrayal of
the immutable passions of the human heart. The Miser,
the Misanthrope, the Hypocrite, the Coxcomb, the
Pedant, the Quack, the Parvenu, the Bore, the Coquette,
are the same in all ages, and live in Moliere's comedies

INTRODUCTION xxv

with a real personality that seems almost historical.
Every form of society from the court to the cabin
is unrolled before us on Moliere's stage, and in the
Impromptu of Versailles we are admitted behind the scenes
of his theatre. By the performance of Les Facbeux
before the King and Fouquet at Vaux-le-Vicomte (August
15, 1661) Moliere is connected with one of the most
picturesque events of the reign, — the fall of the great
superintendent. That Moliere's comedies are of present
interest has lately been shown by Mr. Mansfield's fine
performance of the Misanthrope. May we not hope to
see him revive those characters which are so much
in evidence at the present day, The Nouveau Riche
(Le Bourgeois Gentilbomme) and The Club-Women (Les
Femmes savantes).

From every point of view, then, Moliere is worthy of
our attention, and any work which will attract readers to
him should be welcomed, especially if it is a readable
and accurate account of the Man, his Times and his
Work. Such, I am confident, is Mr. Chatfield-Taylor's
book, and I am glad that the honour of producing
such a work has fallen to an American writer.

T. F. CRANE.
ITHACA, NEW YORK,
July 20, 1906.

MOLlfeRE

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

" WHAT great writer has most honoured my reign ?
Louis XIV asked Boileau one day. " Moliere, sire,"
the critic answered ; but the King could not believe that
a comedian who blackened his face daily to produce the
moustache of Sganarelle was greater than Pascal, La
Bruyere, La Fontaine, or La Rochefoucauld ; greater
than Bourdaloue, Fenelon, or Bossuet ; greater, even,
than Corneille, or Racine.

Others besides Louis XIV may take issue with Boi-
leau, but none will deny Moliere a place among the
great writers of France of every age ; and surely no one
has arisen to challenge his supremacy in the sphere of
comedy. To make a nation laugh through centuries is
renown enough for any man.

No mere comic writer could have called forth Boileau's
tribute. To be great in literature, a man must have a
heart capable of intense joy and infinite sorrow, and
from its depths must come thoughts shared by all man-
kind. Sympathy is a quality conferred by suffering ;
and because Moliere suffered bitterly, his characters
are living men and women, as true to-day as when they
were drawn. To quote Voltaire : "He possessed a
quality apart from Corneille, Racine, Boileau, and La

2 MOLlfiRE

Fontaine. He was a philosopher in both theory and
practice." The charm of his plays lies in their human-
ity ; but to appreciate them fully, one must understand
the man himself and the times in which he lived.

He was born somewhere in the heart of Paris in 1622.
On the fifteenth of January of that year he was baptised
in the parish church of St. Eustache, under the name
of Jean-Baptiste Poquelin (Moliere being aj>seudonym),
ancT "since Tf'was^customary to baptise children on the
day of their coming into the world, this may have been
the date of his birth as well. All his early life, however,
is much shrouded in obscurity ; and a wanderer in the
streets of Paris may see two houses each bearing a tablet
stating that it was built upon the site of the poet's birth.
One is in the rue du Pont-Neuf (No. 31), and the mis-
guided enthusiasts who placed a bust of Moliere above
its door in 1799, chose a spot where he never even
dwelt and a date for his birth two years amiss (1620).
The other, at the corner of the rue St. Honore and the
rue Sauval, formerly called the rue des Vieilles-fetuves,
unquestionably stands upon the site of the house where
he spent the years of his childhood. That he was born
there is probable, but not certain. In 1633 Moliere's
father purchased another house under the arcades of
the market-place. It was situated opposite the pillory,
which stood a few steps from the church of St. Eustache;
but this second house is of far less interest than the one
in which the poet passed his childhood.

Of more importance, however, than his birthplace, are
the times in which he lived and the influences surround-
ing him in his early years. He was Parisian born and
bred, and he grew to manhood in the centre of the life
of Paris — the Paris of Richelieu, a city of about five

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 3

hundred thousand souls huddled within walls which
stood where the boulevards now teem with life. France,
welded to a state by Henry IV, was being drilled in
nationality by its cardinal martinet; religious wars had
already rent the land, and the bickerings of the Fronde
were to follow, before the monarch destined to be called
grand should rule.

Moliere's father, Jean Poquelin by name, and a scion
of a family established at Beauvais as early as the four-
teenth century, was a respectable upholsterer by royal
appointment to the King (valet de cbambre tapissier du
roi). His shop in the rue St. Honore, near the market-
place, was within a stone's throw of the seats of the
mighty. Standing in the doorway, young Jean-Baptiste
might almost see Madame de Rambouillet in the win-
dow of her famous blue salon, or hear the fish-wives
hawk their wares ; and there, in middle class Paris, half-
way between the great and the despised, he_ passed his
boyhood among men and women whose types he was
destined to immortalise.

Jean Poquelin, the elder, was a man of importance in
the shopkeeping world. His father had likewise been
an upholsterer, and his wife's father as well ; so his
business, as was customary in shopkeeping families, was
inherited. Hisjwife, Marie_Cresse by name, brought
him a comfortable dowry, and, being also a tapissier du
roi> he had a certain function to fulfil at court. His
younger brother, Nicolas, had held this appointment,
but in 1631 resigned it in favour of the poet's father.
Six years later, on December eighteenth, 1637, the
reversion of the office was settled upon the future
dramatist. There were eight of these royal upholsterers
among the domestic officers of the King's household,

MOLlfiRE

each receiving a salary of three hundred livres, for three
months annual service at court ; and it is easy to see
that such an appointment would be sought by all well-
to-do burghers of the upholsterer's craft.

Jean-Baptiste, the future Moliere, was the first fruit
of the marriage of Poquelin the upholsterer with Marie
Cresse. Five other children followed, with the usual
middle class regularity, and when the mother died in
May, 1632, at the age of thirty-one, Jean-Baptiste, aged
ten, Jean, aged eight, Nicolas, aged six, and Madeleine,
aged five, survived her. His brothers and sisters had
small part in Moliere's life, and need no further men-
tion ; but it may be said, in passing, that Marie Cresse
left an inheritance of five thousand livres to each of her
children, and that, a year after her death (Mav 30, 1633),
her husband married Catherine Fleurette, daughter of a
bourgeois merchant. She died three years later, leaving
two children — half sisters of Moliere. So much for the
bare family facts.

The Poquelin house in the rue St. Honore, called the
monkey pavilion (le pavilion des singes)^ was a bit of old
Paris made curious, even in those times, by a corner-
post carved to represent a band of pilfering monkeys
climbing an orange tree to pluck the fruit ; and by a sug-
gestive coincidence, monkeys have occasionally appeared
from very ancient times as symbols of comedy. The
shop was on the ground floor, and behind it the kitchen,
serving, probably, for a dining-room as well. Above was
a loft, and over the shop an entresol in which were a bed-
room and a closet. The first floor was used for storage ;
the room over the shop, looking out on the rue St.
Honore, was evidently the bedroom of Poquelin and his
wife, and, possibly, the room in which Moliere was born.

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH

M. Eudore Soulie l gives a description of this apart-
ment which deserves translation :

To see how this room looked and to form an idea
of its occupants, one should visit the Hotel de Cluny
and the Louvre, and then read the inventory of Marie
Cresse's effects, made at the time of her death. On each
side of the fireplace with its brass andirons, were two
small wooden seats called by the worthy housewives of
the seventeenth century caquetoires. They were well
worn by frequent use — there the women sat to gossip
near the fire. In the centre of the room reposed a
seven-legged walnut table, covered with green tapestry,
a rosette de Tournay ; and against the wall stood one of
those old cabinets, now so rare, in which the most
cherished bric-a-brac was kept. That of Marie Cresse
was of walnut, with a marble top ; it had four doors with
lock and key, and was lined with Bruges satin. Against
another wall lay a huge chest, covered with flowered silk
tapestry and used to hold the family valuables. Along
the walls were six high-backed upholstered chairs, and
the bed, with its valance of lace-fringed Mouy serge and
silk testers, was covered with a counterpane of ceremony.
In the ruelle^ or space beside the bed, was an armchair,
kept for guests of honour — the doctor or the father con-
fessor. Five pictures and a Venetian glass mirror hung
against the walls, and the drapings of the Poquelin room
were of Rouen tapestry.

Continuing, M. Soulie remarks that " the furniture
was nothing extraordinary for the house of an uphol-
sterer, but the rest of the family belongings surpassed
in rather an unexpected manner the luxury, perhaps it
would be better to say the comfort, of the bedroom."

An inventory of the family effects was made (January
19-31, 1633) after Marie Cresse's death, so we know

1 Recbercbes sur Mo Here.

MOLltRE

that M. Poquelin's clothes were of fine black or gray
Spanish serge with gold buttons, and that his wife wore
gowns of Neapolitan taffeta, gros-de-Naples, Florentine
ratteen, or changeable watered silk, while her under-
clothes were of the finest linen. Marie Cresse had
jewels enough to put many a modern duchess to
shame, — bracelets, necklaces, pearl ear-rings, emeralds,
and rubies, fourteen rings of diamonds and opals, and
sufficient bibelots to stock a curiosity shop. The family
had embroidered damask napery, too, and heavy table
plate with gilt handles and feet, while the least of the
housekeeping utensils was of silver. There can be no
doubt that the Poquelins were well-to-do.

Had Jean-Bap tiste been content to accept the lot of a
successful shopkeeper, his only care need have been to
learn his father's trade. But he was born with a turbu-
lent heart, and that atmosphere of middle class respecta-
bility, with its smell of upholstery and glue, must have
stifled him even in childhood. One day was like another.
The shop must be opened and swept, the goods arranged
to attract purchasers, orders filled, bills collected, and
regular meals eaten in the kitchen. Yet even the
narrowness of such a life was not unblessed. While
watching his father's customers, young Poquelin learned
to know the capricious ladies of the aristocracy, the
bourgeoises who aped court manners, the fops, the un-
couth burghers, and the rascally servants — in a word,
the characters that he drew so inimitably.

His father, too, was such an object lesson in thrift and
the strenuous stultification of wit that many writers have
tried to identify him with Harpagon in Moliere's play,
The Miser (ZS./4vare). Undoubtedly, he was a close-
fisted shopkeeper who counted pennies, or his business

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 7

would not have thrived ; but he lavished upon his son the
most liberal education that money could buy, and once
endorsed a note to save him from a debtor's prison ; so the
stories that Moliere was, at one time, an abused appren-
tice in a miser's shop, must be taken with reservations.

His mother, likewise, is a woman about whom little is
known, except that her parents were well-to-do. At the
time her will was drawn her dowry had increased con-
siderably under thrifty management ; and we know she
brought six children into the world ; while the books
noted in the inventory of her effects — the Bible and a
set of Plutarch — indicate that she had thoughts other
than those of scrimping and child-bearing. There was
so much tenderness in Moliere's nature, sentiment so
deep, that one likes to believe his mother was such a
woman as he sought for in vain in after life.

Marie Cresse died when her eldest son had reached the

age of ten. The years from eleven till fourteen were

passed in another woman's leading strings ; and it has

ibeen hinted that Catherine Fleurette, his father's second

Jwife, was the original of Bfiline,. the heartless, double-

Ifaced stepmother in The Imaginary Invalid (Le Malade

\maginaire). Even dismissing this supposition as mere

conjecture, the fact remains that young Poquelin fretted

in parental harness. Such a lad as he could never be

content in a sordid shop while the sun was shining on

bright Paris ; and it is safe to venture the guess that

he played truant whenever chance offered, in order to

roam about the streets.

Paris, at that time, was not the well paved, tree lined
city of to-day, but a maze of tangled lanes. It was the
Paris of D'Artagnan, where gilded coaches heralded by
lackeys crowded passers-by against the house walls, while

8 MOLlfiRE

the cardinal's musketeers fought for an unlucky throw of
the dice, or, it might be, a lady's smile: the Paris of
misery, too, where starving peasants trudged behind the
panniers of overladen donkeys, and fifty thousand beg-
gars dragged misshapen forms through ill smelling streets ;
where criminals languished in the stocks, or died in tor-
ture on the Place de Greve.

Around the corner from Jean Poquelin's shop lay the
market-place, where the pillory stood and the cut-purse
thrived ; and there beneath the rambling arcades mer-
chants in fine mantles chaffered to the click of the pew-
terer's hammer, while the market women cried their
wares in the open square. But the Pont-Neuf, the main
artery of Paris, must have delighted young Jean-Baptiste
far more. While busy people came and went across this
bridge, street singers trilled their ballads, poets recited
pasquinades, quacks hawked opiates and drugs, clowns
grimaced, and acrobats tumbled to gaping crowds. There,
in that throng of artisans, students, valets, swashbucklers,
grisettes, and wenches, he idled away many an hour ;
for, according to tradition, he acquired his first taste for
comedy on the Pont-Neuf. Each quack had a troupe
of mountebanks to draw him custom. The plays they
gave upon their crude stages were screaming farces, with
swaggering bullies or thieving servants as heroes, and
wives who deceived their husbands as heroines ; rough
frameworks, or canevas as they were called, the actor's
ready wit supplying the lines ; and these may easily have
served as models for Moliere's earliest work.

The Pont-Neuf was not the worst of schools. Gaultier-
Garguille, Turlupin, Guillot-Gorju, and Gros Guillaume,
all famed comedians of the Hotel de Bourgogne, learned
their art while serving as mountebanks for its quacks.

3"
n

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 9

In Moliere's time such of'erateurs as Bary and L'Orvietan
were the vogue, so the lad may have been among their
ardent admirers ; and, as his paternal grandfather owned
two booths at the celebrated fair of St. Germain-des-Pres,
another haunt of charlatans and mountebanks, he was
doubtless a frequent spectator at the theatre of the fair
as well.1

Grimarest's Life of Moliere 2 having been used by Vol-
taire as a basis for his very inaccurate biography of le
grand comique, as Frenchmen delight in calling their
dramatic genius, it has ever since been the fashion to dis-
credit that authority. However, as Grimarest's book was
published only thirty-two years after Moliere's death,
when comrades, notably Baron, were still living, it seems
only just to give him some degree of confidence — cer-
tainly in unrefuted stories like the following :

Moliere had a grandfather who loved him distractedly ;
and, as this good man had a passion for the theatre, he
often took little Poquelin to the Hotel de Bourgogne.
His father, fearing that such dissipation would spoil the
child and divert his attention from his trade to other
channels, asked the good man one day why he took his
grandson to the play so often. " Do you wish," said he
with much indignation, " to make him a comedian ? "
" May it please Heaven," the grandfather answered, "that

1 Le Boulanger de Chalussay, in his comedy fclomire bypocondre,
accuses Moliere of having touted (brigue) Orvietan ; but as this satirical
play was intended as a malicious attack upon the poet, its statements
should not be accepted without substantiation.

2 La Vie de M. de Moliere by J.-L. Le Gallois, sieur de Grimarest,
1705. This work is the first biography of the poet. Although far from
trustworthy in the matter of absolute facts, its anecdotes are referred to
so frequently in these pages that it has seemed unnecessary to burden the
footnotes with repetitions of the title. In all other instances Grimarest's
name in the text has been deemed sufficient reference.

io MOLlfiRE

he become as good a comedian as Bellerose!" (Belle-
rose being a famous actor of the day.) This reply made
a deep impression upon the young man, and since he
had no fixed inclination for the trade of upholsterer, it
aroused a distaste for it in his heart. As his grand-
father wished him to become an actor, he believed that
he might aspire to something more congenial than his
father's calling.

It will be seen that Grimarest fails to identify the
grandparent responsible for so perverting the youthful
mind; and, as Moliere's paternal grandfather died in
1626, the tempter — if the story be in any way true —
must have been the maternal grandfather, Louis Cresse;
a supposition rendered more probable by the fact that
the latter shared with Jean Poquelin, the elder, the
executorship of Marie Cresse' s estate, and was, in con-
sequence, one of the guardians of the heirs, the Poquelin
children. To take his grandson to the theatre occasion-
ally would have been neither heinous nor unnatural.
Even if Louis Cresse were not fully as culpable as
Grimarest paints him, it does not need a far stretch of
one's imagination to picture the future Moliere standing
beside him in the parterre of the Hotel de Bourgogne,
and gazing with open-eyed intentness at the ranting actors
of the time, Bellerose and the famous Mondory, " than
whom no man ever appeared with greater splendour on
the stage." Besides, there was Gros Guillaume to make
the child, tather of the man, laugh till his little sides
split ; and, in the role of comic doctor, Guillot-Gorju,
of huge peruke and pump like nose, to give him his
first impression of the ridiculous side of medicine, his
first distaste for the Faculty.

The reader who can recall the first act in M. Ed-

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH n

mond Rostand's Cyrano de Eergerac should have a fairly
accurate impression of the Hotel de Bourgogne in
Moliere's youth. Needless to say, it was the leading
play-house of the capital. Its actors, glorying in the
title of Troupe royale des com'ediens^ received a royal
subsidy; and, unlike the tennis-court theatres of that
period, this play-house occupied a spacious hall, and had
a permanent stage and boxes. In the parterre, or pit,
then entirely devoid of seats, a various rabble gathered, —
lackeys, soldiers, artisans, shopkeepers, and impecunious
gentlemen ; and to keep the quarrelsome from interfer-
ing with the actors, the spectators were separated from
the stage by a barrier at the height of a man's shoulder.
Orange girls cried refreshments in the parterre, ladies
of the court graced the boxes, men of fashion sat upon
the stage; crudely painted back drops sufficed for the
scenery, clusters of candles, suspended from the roof by
a cord and pulley, gave the stage its light ; in a box,
fiddlers sat bowing wheezy violins; and the "dead heads"
of the day — the King's musketeers — were so quick to
draw their rapiers that riots were of frequent occurrence,
and duels not unknown : such in brief was the Hotel de
Bourgogne.

Its only rival, if rival it might be called, was the
Theatre du Marais in the old rue du Temple, a typical
play-house of the time, situated in a vacant tennis-court,
where D'Orgemont, husband of the great Turlupin's
widow, was the principal actor. Of more importance to
the student of Moliere was the Hotel du Petit Bourbon, r
where a band of Italian buffoons held the boards, and
Tiberio Fiurelli, whose stage name of Scaramouche is
a word in many languages, was in his prime. There
is a tradition that the transalpine player was a friend of

12 MOLlfeRE

young Poquelin's and gave him lessons in acting. If
this histrionic instruction were ever given, it seems most
probable that it was after Moliere's return to Paris from
the provinces, in 1658 ; but the discussion of this may
be left to a later chapter. That Moliere profited by
his observations of Italian mummery and play construc-
tion, is proved by his after work. Loitering occasionally
in the crowds on the Pont-Neuf or standing beside his
grandfather in the pit of the Hotel de Bourgogne or the
Petit Bourbon, his keen young mind doubtless received
lasting impressions ; yet he was obliged to spend too
many years at school to have had much leisure for
intimacy with buffoons and mountebanks.

Since the young nobles usually received their earlier
education at home, the pupils of the primary schools
were, for the most part, sons of the bourgeoisie. When
Moliere entered the Jesuit college of Clermont, early in
his teens, he must have had previous training in books,
and, if he held to the habit of his class, it was received
at a primary school. In such an institution the life
of the bourgeois boy was irksome to a degree. His
costume was a simple uniform of coarse and sombre
cloth, with a belt about the waist ; his hair was never
curled or perfumed, and, in place of the broad felt hat
and jack boots of a nobleman's son, he wore a round
cap and low cut shoes. Instruction in manly exercises
was denied him and, likewise, a sword ; his holidays
were few, and he had but a single hour of play a week,
with an extension in summer of another on Tuesdays
and Thursdays. Obliged to speak Latin during such
recesses, he was forbidden to quarrel or to strike a com-
rade, and his punishment varied only in the number
of lashes administered by the whipping master, or the

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 13

length of time he might be condemned to a diet of bread
and water.

Charles Sorel gives a picture of the schoolmasters of
the time which should inspire deep sympathy for their
pupils :

They were men who came to the desk from the
plough, preparing themselves as proctors in the school
hours they stole from the service of their masters, or
while their codfish sizzled over the fire. They contrived
to become masters of arts with the consultation of few
books ; but they did not know what civility meant, and
a lad in their charge must be born good and noble not
to be corrupted.1

If Jean-Baptiste Poquelin was taught by such masters,
he learned a few phases of human nature, to say the
least ; but when he entered the Jesuit college of Cler-
mont (since called the college of Louis le Grand), in
the rue St. Jacques, he was to be envied rather than
pitied. Besides being the most fashionable school in
the capital, it was also the best, and it brought him in
contact with a superior class of boys, several of whom
were to prove life long friends.

The Jesuits, long persecuted by the University of
Paris, had been obliged to close their college for a num-
ber of years ; but the King, at the petition of the nobility,
reopened it by Royal Letters Patent in 161 8, whereupon
the young nobles and sons of the upper middle classes
flocked thither in such numbers that Clermont soon out-
shone the University, its rival.

The course of study was devoted mainly to Latin
classics: Caesar, Sallust, Virgil, Ovid, Cicero, the poets

1 La Prate bistoire comique de Francion.

i4 MOLlfeRE

from Horace to Juvenal ; and, of far more importance to
a future dramatist, the comedies of Plautus and Terence.
Greek was taught less thoroughly ; in the humanities, the
pupils were given a taste, at least, of the best Athenian
authors, possibly Sophocles, jEschylus, and Euripides ;
and, in all probability, Moliere's familiarity with the
classic drama was acquired while a student at Clermont.
There was one feature in the life there which must have
played a part in the development of his peculiar genius.
Latin dramas were acted by the students ; the professors,
too, occasionally wrote original tragedies and comedies to
be interpreted by their pupils ; and, although no verify-
/ing record exists, it seems more than likely that Moliere's
first appearance as an actor was in that Jesuit theatre.

Because His Serene Highness, Armand de Bourbon,
Prince de Conti, brother of the great Conde, and a cousin

_^— *—•—•— •^—••^•""'^•^"•"^^^

ofthe King, became Moliere's patron at a later day, he
is reputed to have been his friend at school; but the
royal scion was nearly eight years his junior, and was
rushed through his humanities with such sycophantic
speed by his masters that at Clermont he must have
been a privileged character, holding aloof from common
lads. When he came to school escorted by a retinue
of flunkeys in peach-coloured liveries, Jean-Baptiste
doubtless ridiculed him when he was not within earshot,
and may even have been present when he read his thesis
to Cardinal Mazarin from a dais eleven feet high; yet
to imagine that this prince of the blood royal and an
upholsterer's son were ever intimates is to trifle with
probability.

About Moliere's acquaintance with some fellow pupils
of more congenial tastes less doubt exists. Claude
Chapelle, natural son of Luillier, maitre des comptes, and

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 15

a wit and dandy of society, and probably Francis Ber-
nier, the great traveller and doctor to the Grand Mogul,
together with the poet Hesnault, truest friend of Fouquet
in the hour of his disgrace, formed, with young Poquelin,
a coterie of kindred spirits. When Luillier, Chapelle's
father, persuaded his friend Gassendi, the epicurean, to
take his son as a pupil, Bernier, Hesnault, and Jean-
Baptiste Poquelin, were admitted to the philosopher's
school as well. Soon that eccentric P'erigourdin of tumid
nose, Cyrano de Bergerac, also joined Gassendi's classes.
The philosopher having been absent from Paris about
seven years, returned in February, 1641, and in March
was a guest of Luillier, an old time friend with whom he
had once made a journey through Holland. During the
previous year, De Bergerac, wounded at Arras and forced
to leave the military service, developed a passion for
philosophy; so 1641 is apparently the year when these
five famous men studied with the epicurean.

"If Moliere was a good humanist," says the preface to
the first complete edition of his works (1682), "he be-
came a still better philosopher; and his inclination for
poetry made him read the poets with particular care, so
he knew them thoroughly, above all, Terence." If such
were his tastes he could have chosen no better master
than Gassendi.

The philosopher was a lover of the beautiful, who be-
lieved that the lot of a man of letters was the best in the
world. Gassendi had learned by heart a quantity of
French and Latin verse which it was his habit to recite
to his pupils while walking. " Beautiful poems learned
and recited daily," he said, " elevate the mind, ennoble
the style of those who write, and inspire grandiose senti-
ments." Lucretius was his favourite author, and the

16 MOLlfiRE

effect of this epicurean poet upon his pupils is not diffi-
cult to trace. Hesnault1 translated the invocation to
Venus, and Moliere paraphrased a passage on the blind-
ness of love, which, years later, found a place in The Mis-
anthrope. Chapelle, le grand ivrogne du Maraisy as he
was called, became the most epicurean of Gassendi's
pupils, at least in the popular acceptance of the word ;
but Moliere, although he led an actor's life, evinced, on
more than one occasion, somewhat strenuous habits, and
was decidedly more of a Cartesian than a follower of his
early master's teachings.

Luillier was a good liver, who, together with his poet
friends, Desbarreaux and Colletet, may readily have
initiated his son Chapelle and comrades in the delights
of epicureanism ; and no doubt The Service and Fir
Cone, The Lorraine Cross, and The Green Oak, all
famous taverns of the day, rang to the laughter of these
young lovers of the joys of life and verse. But what-
ever may have been the habits of his friends, Jean-
Baptiste Poquelin's life was not entirely devoted to
/ revelry, for, upon leaving Gassendi's classes, he made a
pretence, at least, of studying law.

Le Boulanger de Chalussay2 says that Moliere took
his licentiate degree in law at Orleans, "where any
donkey could buy a diploma, but only went to the law
courts once"; while the preface of 1682 states that
" after leaving the law schools he chose the profession
of comedian." In 1641 Moliere was studying philoso-
phy, while late in January, 1643, he had taken his first

1 M. Paul Mesnard considers the evidence that Hesnault was a mem-
ber of Gassendi's class too slight for acceptance ; on the other hand, he
presents no evidence to contradict a long established tradition.

2 filomire bypocondre.

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 17

step toward the stage; so his intervening law studies
must have been more desultory than serious.

According to Grimarest, "when Moliere finished his
studies he was obliged, on account of his father's great
age, to fulfil his duties as royal upholsterer for a while,
and consequently made a journey to Narbonne in the
suite of Louis XIII."

Moliere's trip to Narbonne, although unverified, has
never been disproved; but Grimarest's uncorroborated
statements, being classed as mere traditions, have been
held of doubtful authenticity; especially as Poquelin, the
elder, far from being decrepit, was only forty-seven at
the time. However, the upholsterer was occupied with
business transactions in Paris while the King took his
eventful journey (1642), and the reversion of the office
of valet de chambre tapissier had already been settled
upon his son ; so the theory that young Poquelin filled
his father's post on this occasion is based on more than
mere conjecture.

If he accompanied the King through the South in an
official capacity, Moliere had opportunity to learn the
flippant and servile ways of courtiers, their ambitions and
jealousies, and to witness the futile but tragic end of a
famous conspiracy.

On the twelfth of May, Cinq-Mars and De Thou were
arrested at Narbonne for plotting Richelieu's death ; and
an attempt has even been made to identify the future
dramatist with a young valet de chambre who tried to
conceal Cinq-Mars in a closet and circumvent his pur-
suers. However, the proof that Moliere played this
humane role is quite as shadowy as the evidence that he
lodged during this journey with one Melchior Dufort,
a worthy bourgeois of Sigean, who at a later day is sup-

i8 MOLIERE

posed to have helped meet the financial difficulties of his
strolling theatrical company.

If Moliere at the age of twenty travelled in the King's
suite, to be in the fashion he must have played the
part of lover as well as courtier. Perhaps this was the
case, since tradition would have it that during this
journey in the South he met the strolling actress destined
to lead him from the darkness of his middle class exist-
ence into the light of day. But this early love affair is
so thoroughly a part of Moliere's theatrical career that it
must be related in connection with the story of his first
appearance on the stage.

MADELEINE BEJART 19

MADELEINE BEjART AND THE ILLUSTRIOUS

THEATRE

IN telling Moliere's love story one is in sore straits at the
outset. That posterity might be interested in the doings
of a mere actor certainly never occurred to him ; for with
the exception of his plays he has left no word to shed
light upon himself. Besides a few contracts, wills, mar-
riage licenses, and baptismal records, the only sources
for a history of his private life are the occasional re-
marks of contemporary gossips, Grimarest's untrustwor-
thy biography, and the slanders of enemies. Two of
these last have almost attained the dignity of historical
documents,

One is a satire by Le Boulanger de Chalussay, published
in 1670, and entitled Elomire Hypochondriac ; or, The Doc-
tors Avenged (Elomire hypocondre ou les medecins venges) —
(Elomire being an anagram of the word Molierej and the
work a venomous comedy upon the poet's lifei The
other is a scandalous attack upon his wife in the form of
a pamphlet called The Famous Comedienne ; or, The Story
of La Guerin, formerly wife and widow of Moliere (La
Fameuse comedienne, ou histoire de la Guerin auparavant
femme et veuve de Moliere). Guerin was the name of the
actor Madame de Moliere married for her second hus-
band, and this libel upon her character, published fifteen
years after the poet's death, was so abusive that the anony-

20 MOLIERE

mous author was obliged to print it in a foreign country.
In spite of documentary evidence to the contrary, the vile
charges it contains have been accepted wholly or in part
by the majority of Moliere' s biographers. Thus intro-
duced, let the gossips and slanderers have their say.

" A fellow named Moliere left the benches of the Sor-
bonne to follow Madeleine Bejart. He was long in love
with her, gave advice to her troupe, joined it finally, and
married her." Moliere did love Madeleine Bejart, but
he was not a student of the Sorbonne, and he did not
marry her. However, when Tallemant des Reaux
jotted down this bit of town talk in his Historiettes (a
collection of gossipy tales written at the time, but not
published until 1833), Moliere was only an obscure actor ;
so the wonder is that his humble love story should have
been found worthy of record at all. Now let the slanderer
speak :

" Madeleine Bejart was the pastime of a number of
young men of Languedoc," says the anonymous author
of The Famous Com'edienne. She was certainly in dalli-
ance with one noble of the court, yet if all that libel says
of her be true, it is strange that the name of only one
lover besides Moliere has been chronicled. How easily
one young man of Languedoc might be magnified until
he became "a number" in the eyes of a vilifier! But
to pass over this unpleasant feature of her life, it is suffi-
cient to say that she was the mistress of Esprit de Remond
de Mormoiron, Baron de Modene, a young nobleman
of the county Venaissin and gentleman-in-waiting to the
Duke of Orleans. She bore him a natural child, baptised
on the eleventh of July, 1638, under the name of Fran-
9oise. The sponsors were Modene's legitimate son,
Gaston, and Madeleine Bejart's own mother ; while Jean-

MADELEINE BEJART 21

Baptiste Tristan P Hermite, a decayed gentleman-actor,
whose daughter later became Modene's second wife,
stood proxy for the eight-year-old godfather — leaving
it certainly an inclusive family affair, and an interesting
side light on the loose manners of the day.

Nor is this the only questionable baptism in the Bejart
family. The parentage of Moliere's wife, Armande Bejart,
— Madeleine's sister or daughter, as the case may be, —
is still a question for debate ; but its discussion will be
left to another chapter.

The date of Madeleine Bejart's birth, January eighth,
1618, is recorded in the parish of St. Paul; hence she
was Moliere's senior by four years. Her father, Joseph
Bejart, Sieur de Belleville, was a petty court official with
the untranslatable title of Huissier audienckr a la grande
maitrise des eaux et fortts, si'egeant a la table de marbre du
palais. He married Marie Herve in this same parish of
St. Paul on the sixth day of October, 1615, and she bore
him eleven or twelve children, of whom only five were
living when he died in the spring of ^643, — the year that
Moliere went upon the stage. All these surviving chil-
dren were more or less connected with the poet's life.
Joseph, the eldest, was twenty-six, possibly twenty-seven,
years old at the time of his father's death ; Madeleine
was twenty-five ; Genevieve, another sister, was probably
about nineteen ; and there was a brother, Louis, aged
thirteen, as well as an unbaptised baby, — this last a fact
to be remembered in the future discussion concerning
Moliere's wife.

The fortune of Joseph Bejart must have consisted
solely in debts, for the widow took proceedings on March
tenth, 1643, *n tne name of herself and children to aban-
don the right of inheritance. Perhaps it was this family

22 MOLIERE

poverty which made the eldest son and daughter adopt
the profession of the stage ; for, like his sister, Joseph
Bejart the younger was a strolling player.

Madeleine has been painted as a ne'er-do-weel who ran
wild in the streets of Paris and finally joined a travelling
theatrical company ; yet all the evidence points to a time-
filled, hard-working youth. Her father's position was
honourable if not lucrative, while his brother held the
office of Procureur au chatelet. Her family lived not far
from the Hotel de Bourgogne ; and she had an uncle
who, besides being a bailiff, managed a tennis-court, — in
those days so nearly synonymous with theatre that she
may be said to have passed her youth in a theatrical
atmosphere.

She probably went upon the stage at seventeen ; but
she was the friend of Rotrou, the dramatist, herself wrote
verses in his honour, and there is a tradition that one or
two plays by her were performed in the provinces ; so
the idea that she was a child of the streets is certainly
questionable. Le Boulanger de Chalussay says she had
reddish hair ; this in itself indicates temperament ; but
her reason for adopting a stage career was doubtless
the inborn love of excitement and admiration which
has inspired many an actress.

Whether from choice or necessity, Madeleine prob-
ably wandered through the provinces with a strolling
company ; and she may have played in Paris from
time to time at some outlying theatre, since at eighteen
she bought and occupied a small house in the Cul-de-
sac de Thorigny. Rotrou, too, in the same year, 1636,
published as dedication to his tragedy, The Dying Her-
cules, these verses by her :

MADELEINE BEJART 23

Thy dying Hercules, in heaven or earth,
Brings glory to immortalise thy name ;
And leaving here a temple to thy fame,

His pyre becomes an altar to thy birth.

No common wanton surely, this Madeleine Bejart, who
could write verses to flatter the least susceptible great
poet of the day ! But Rotrou was not alone in think-
ing well of her attainments : Tallemant des Reaux wrote
in his Historiettes that, " although he had not seen her,
he understood she was the best actress of them all," — a
tribute, indeed, considering that she never appeared at
the Hotel de Bourgogne.

Her protector, the Baron de Modene, was a restless
dare-devil who played his part in half the conspiracies
and intrigues of the time. His master, Gaston, Duke
of Orleans, a brother of Louis XIII, spent his life in
plotting, and his court was of the usual Orleans type, — a
rendezvous for libertines and intriguers. Modene lived
apart from his wife, and, when not fighting or conspiring
or fleeing from justice, spent his time in revelry with his
royal master ; so he could hardly have been faithful either
as lover or husband. Madeleine is supposed to have
met this handsome, turbulent Lothario in Languedoc
when he was an exile from court ; and there is a story
that he wooed her under a promise of marriage. In
view of her later fidelity to the dramatist, this is not
difficult to believe ; for, with the exception of the attacks
of libellers, there is not a word to indicate that she loved
any one but Modene and Moliere, and none that she
ever bartered her charms.

She was a strolling actress in an age of license, it is
true, and many were the nights she must have slept upon
the straw of some barn or beneath the canopy of her

24 MOLIERE

Thespian chariot. When she happened to please village
bucks, they swarmed about her in the corner behind the
stage where she dressed or besieged her quarters at the
inn ; and it would be hard for a woman to remain modest
and immaculate in such surroundings. When Moliere
first knew her, she was about twenty-five years old, and
had seen much of the shadowy side of life. Surely it is
not the only time an actress with a past has bewitched a
callow youth of twenty.

The place of their meeting is still a mystery. Tradi-
tion would have it in Languedoc during the King's
journey ; and because some comedians played before his
Majesty when he stopped to take the waters at Mont-
frin, and a troupe headed by Charles Dufresne, an actor
associated with Moliere at a later date, appeared at Lyons
the following year (1643), it has been argued that these
organisations were identical, and Madeleine a member of
them at the time.1 If this be so, Montfrin was the place
of her first meeting with Moliere ; but the young man's
journey itself is still a matter of doubt, so it seems quite
as likely that they met first in Paris when she came
from the provinces to set up her trestles in some vacant

tennis-court.JJC

If this conjecture be correct, in the company she
brought with her from the country were her brother
Joseph, who had a habit of stuttering even upon the stage,
and probably an out-at-elbow gentleman named Jean-
Baptiste Tristan I'Hermite, a brother of the poet Frangois
Tristan THermite, and like him asserting descent from
the gossip hangman of Louis XI. Modene, La Bejart's
lover, played fast and loose with the wife of Jean-Baptiste,

1 M. de Modene : set deux femmes €t Madeleine Bejart, by Henri
Chard on.

MADELEINE BEJART 25

and afterward married Madeleine PHermite, his daugh-
ter. Perhaps at the time Moliere came upon the scene,
Modene, already tiring of his love for Madeleine Bejart,
had begun to be enamoured of L'Hermite's wife, known
on the stage as Marie Courtin de la Dehors. This would
tend to leave La Bejart at once resentful and fancy free ;
and ifj as seems most likely, she was in financial straits, the
budding passion of a young man who had just received
an inheritance from his mother's estate might have ap-
peared in the light of a godsend to such a girl. The one
certainty, however, to be deduced from all this conjec-
ture is that Madeleine Bejart met the future genius of
comedy before June thirtieth, 1643, the date when he
signed his first theatrical contract.

The actors of the time were vagabonds. The patron-
age of Richelieu had done something to improve their
lot, and at his instigation the King had decreed that no
aspersion should attach to the profession of player ; but
no royal decree could remove a deep-rooted prejudice.
To a worthy bourgeois, such as Poquelin the upholsterer,
a comedian was an outcast unworthy to be shrived ; hence
it took rare courage on Jean-Baptiste's part to cut himself
loose from family and prospects.

When he decided to forsake the profession of the law
for an actor's calling, he is reputed to have conceived a
harebrained scheme which he hoped would lend respecta-
bility to his venture. Madeleine, the daughter of a court
official, was as well born as he ; and if they could surround
themselves with a company of respectable amateurs — gens
de famille> K^6 themselves — they might elevate the stage
by giving free performances in fashionable circles. The
name of this venture was "The Illustrious Theatre"
(L'lllustre Theatre)-, undoubtedly an ill-starred theatrical

26 MOLIERE

company bearing this title was organised by young Poque-
lin and the Bejarts ; but whether the members gave ama-
teur performances before appearing on the professional
stage is still a matter of considerable doubt.

A somewhat questionable legend is told by Perrault1
about a writing-master named George Pinel whom the
upholsterer employed to dissuade his son from making a
fool of himself. Instead of listening to righteous argu-
ment, the lad painted the charms of an actor's life in such
glowing terms that the scrivener was himself persuaded
to join " The Illustrious Theatre." As he succeeded in
borrowing money from the worthy upholsterer both before
and after espousing his son's cause, Pinel, if the story be
true, must have been a pharisee as well as a scribe.

The facts of history relating to the organisation of
" The Illustrious Theatre " are few. On the sixth of
January, 1643, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin received from his
father the sum of six hundred and thirty livres due from
his mother's estate, and renounced his right of succession
to the office of Royal Upholsterer. The decease of
Madeleine's father about this time may have retarded
the organisation of the company somewhat, since it was
not until the thirtieth of June that its members were
brought together to sign the contract which was to bind
them to the venture.

This latter document contained a clause whereby Clerin,
Poquelin, and Joseph Bejart should have the right to
choose successively the role of hero in the plays to be
produced, while to Mile. Bejart was given the selection
of the parts which pleased her. It set forth as well that
the contracting parties united to play comedy and to

1 Les Hommes illustres qut ont paru en Prance pendant ce stick : avec
leurs portraits au nature/.

MADELEINE BfijART 27

retain their organisation under the title of " The Illustri-
ous Theatre." From these two clauses it has been ar-
gued that the troupe had given performances before the
instrument was drawn, else its members would not wish
to retain their organisation or entrust leading roles to a
young man without experience. But that is a question
of minor importance. The signing of this contract marks!
the beginning of Moliere's career as a professional actor. \
The document itself, discovered in a Parisian notary's
office by M. Eudore Soulie, is authentic. The names of
the following signatories occur in the eccentric spelling
of the day:

Beys G. Clerin

Jean-Baptiste Poquelin J. Beiart

Bonnenfant George Pinel

M. Beiart Magdale Malingre

Geneviefve Beiart Catherine Desurlis

A. Mareschal Marie Herve
Fran9oise Lesguillon

Ducbesne. — Fieffif.

Although Beys wrote the initial of his Christian name
as " D " to later documents of " The Illustrious Theatre,"
he was possibly the wine-bibbing Charles Beys, born in
1610, whose epitaph Loret wrote, and who was cited by
the Brothers Parfaict l as the author of The Madhouse
(L'Hdpital des fous) and other pieces. //

Little is known of Germain Clerin. Joseph Bejart
was Madeleine's eldest brother, while Genevieve was her
younger sister, doubtless just beginning her theatrical
career. Nicolas Bonnenfant was a lawyer's clerk, Andre
Mareschal an advocate in parliament, and George Pinel
the pharisaical scribe already mentioned. Catherine De-
1 Histoire du theatre f ran fats.

*8 MOLIERE

surlis, or de Surlis, was the eldest daughter of Etienne de
Surlis, record clerk of the Privy Council of the King, and
Fran9oise Lesguillon was her mother, who, as the actress
was a minor, signed the contract to make it binding.
Madeleine (or, as she wrote her name, Magdale) Malingre
remained in the company only a short time, joining the
forces of the Theatre du Marais, where, according to
Tallemant des Reaux, she fought a duel upon the stage
with an actress named La Beaupre. Marie Herve was
the mother of the Bejart family. Duchesne and Fieffe
were notaries.

In this document young Poquelin gave his address
as the rue de Thorigny, where Madeleine had owned a
house since her eighteenth year ; so, although the lady
discreetly gave her mother's residence in the rue de la
Perle as her own domicile, it is evident that, without the
benediction of the church, the young man had already
joined his inamorata for better or for worse.

To complete his separation from middle-class respecta-
bility, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin chose a stage name, — a
common practice among actors then as now, — but his
reason for selecting "Moliere" has ever remained a
mystery. There was a ballet-master, poet, and musician
attached to the court called Louis de Molier, or, as it
was often written, Moliere, and there had been an author,
Fra^ois de Moliere, whose amorous novels had had
quite a vogue. This Fra^ois de Moliere was dead.
Possibly young Poquelin had been reading one of his
books to his lady-love and liked the author's name.

But this is a question quite as unanswerable as whether
love of art or love of a more tender nature made " a fel-
low named Moliere leave the benches of the Sorbonne,"
or, to be more truthful, his father's house, " to follow

MADELEINE BEJART 29

Madeleine Bejart." The blood runs warm at one-and-
twenty, and in spite of his undoubted passion for the
stage the lady's glances must have been more potent in
turning the scales than " the invincible appeal of a noble
art," which M. Paul Mesnard1 cites as the cause of the
youth's apostasy.

Once having taken this rash step, the young man must
needs find a theatre for his madcap venture. Just beyond
the walls of the city on the left bank of the Seine, stood
a vacant hall called from the name of its proprietors the
Mestayers' Tennis-Court This was the place selected
by Moliere and his impecunious comrades for their enter-
prise. Situated in the foss'e de Nesle,2 it was remote
from the haunts of fashion ; yet the annual rental alone
of nineteen hundred livres demanded by Noel Gallois,
the tennis master, was fully three times Moliere's capital,
and the expense of transforming the place into a theatre
was not included therein. The young man did not hesi-
tate, however, to sign a three years' lease for this tennis-
court, dated September twelfth, 1643, and since Marie
Herve hypothecated her goods, chattels, and house in
the rue de la Perle as security, Moliere's confidence in
the enterprise seems to have been shared by her children,
the Bejarts.

While the Mestayers' Tennis-Court was being trans-
formed into a play-house, the members of " The Illustri-
ous Theatre," together with Catherine Bourgeois, a new
recruit, ventured forth to Rouen to try their fortune at a
fair.3 Engaging four " rascal fiddlers," who styled them-

1 Notice biograpbique sur Moliere.

2 Probably on the site now occupied by houses 10, 12, 14 in the rue
Mazarin and 11,13 rue de ^a Seine.

8 La Foire du pardon, ou de Saint Romain.

30 MOLIERE

selves " master players of instruments," to draw them cus-
tom, these unfledged actors set up their trestles near the
gypsy tents and peddlers' booths of Normandy ; there
played to an audience of yokels, and made their bid for
fame.

As the fair openecj, on October twenty-third, it is rea-
sonable to presume the company had reached Rouen by
that time. On November third, there the members signed
a contract with Michault, a master-builder, and Duplessis,
a carpenter, for alterations to their Paris house; so their
presence in the cathedral city on that day is attested.

Corneille lived at Rouen, and his comedy, ^he Liar
(Le Menteur\ being somewhat in the vein of Moliere's
own earlier work, imaginative writers have pictured the
master of comedy playing the part of Dorante at the
time of his debut. Unfortunately for the truth of this
tribute of a future genius to one already laurel-crowned,
Moliere's early bent was tragedy, and at the time of his
first appearance at Corneille's birthplace he was courting
Melpomene with an ardour still unquenched.

Although the exact length of their sojourn among the
merry-andrews of the West is not known, Moliere and
his fellow Thespians were certainly back in Paris on
December twenty-eighth, for on that day the members of
" The Illustrious Theatre " signed an obligation to pay
Leonard Aubry, pavier in ordinary of the King's build-
ings, two hundred livres for a pavement twelve fathoms
long by three wide before the new theatre. Aubry agreed,
further, to widen the street so that coaches might reach
the door, and that the work should be completed on the
following Thursday, weather permitting. The twenty-
eighth of December, 1643, falling upon a Monday, the
Thursday following was the thirty-first. If the condi-

MADELEINE BEJART 31

tions of the contract were fulfilled, the opening of " The
Illustrious Theatre " probably took place on New Year's
Day, 1644, one year less five days from the time Moliere
had received the sum of six hundred and thirty Hvres
from his father and renounced his right of succession to
the appointment of Royal Upholsterer.

The few whom curiosity attracted to the new play-
house went away to cavil. Even Madeleine Bejart's
talent could not save the doomed enterprise. There
is no sadder spectacle than a bad actor playing to an
empty house; and in those days Moliere was so bad
an actor that in his efforts to curb the volubility of
his speech, he acquired the habit of a sort of hiccough
which lasted him through life ; the houses he played to
standing so empty that his patrimony was soon exhausted
and debts contracted to the sum of two thousand livres.
For a full year he and his fellow tragedians struggled
on in the Mestayers* Tennis-Court ; but the expected
coaches never came, and the sumptuous boxes remained
ungraced. True, they received the empty boon of styl-
ing themselves " The Troupe of His Royal Highness,"
probably through the intercession of Modene, but the
Duke of Orleans was chary of his pensions, and the
honour could not have been half so useful in drawing
custom as the ballet-master named Daniel Mallet, en-
gaged on June twenty-eighth, 1644, for thirty-five sous
a day, with an additional five when he performed. The
name Moltire appears signed to the contract with this
terpischorean artist for the first time, — Moliere, at the
nadir of his career.

The thought of a hired dancer doing steps as an anti-
dotal interlude to the tragic bellowings of the genius of
comedy would be pathetic if it were not humorous. For

32 MOLIERE

tragedy was the undoing of " The Illustrious Theatre."
Indeed the new play-house became a veritable morgue,
where every poetaster in Pads exposed dead plays. The
Death of Seneca and The Death of Crisp us, by Tristan
I'Hermite, Sc*vola, by Pierre du Ryer, and Artaxerxes,
by Jean Magnon, were among the lugubrious pieces pro-
duced by these ingenuous actors ; and, not content with
turning their theatre into a mortuary, they admitted one
Nicolas Desfontaines, already the author of eleven trag-
edies, to partnership.

No theatrical company could bear such a burden of
the " heavy " ; yet, actor-like, these crushed tragedians did
not attribute their failure to lack of talent or choice of
plays, but to the situation of their theatre. In Decem-
ber, 1644, when debt had driven them from their play-
house, they rented another tennis-court called the Black
Cross, over by the St. Paul gate, a far more aristocratic
quarter then than the Faubourg St. Germain. Another
master-builder was engaged to make the new house
ready for occupancy on the eighth of January, 1645,
and unless he was a trusting soul, Moliere and his
comrades had already received their windfall of cast-off
garments to pawn for his remuneration.

Old clothes were no unusual reward for poets and
actors who had pleased some great noble. Madeleine's
former protector, the Baron de Modene, had become
first gentleman-in-waiting to the Duke of Guise, and
Tristan 1'Hermite was attached to his household ; so
" The Illustrious Theatre " shared the wardrobe his
Grace distributed among the actors of Paris about this
time. In an anonymous collection of poetry, printed in
1646, occur these lines, evidently written by an actor
the duke had overlooked :

MADELEINE BEJART 33

Already, in the royal troupe,

Sir Beauchateau, that popinjay,

Lets his impatient spirit droop,

Whene'er thy gift he can't display;

La Bejart, Beys, and Moliere,

Three stars of brilliance quite as rare,

Through glory thine, have grown so vain

That envy makes me loudly swear

I '11 none of them, shouldst thou not deign

To grant me clothes as fine to wear.

Even a duke's cast-off garments could not avert " The
Illustrious Theatre's " stalking doom. The receipts at
the new play-house were no better than in the Faubourg
St. Germain. At last came the hour of reckoning : Jean-
Baptiste Poquelin, Sieur de Moliere, having pawned two
gold and silver embroidered ribbons, probably the rem-
nants of De Guise's gift, was tried in July, 1645, an<^
imprisoned in the Grand Chatelet early in the following
month. A chandler named Antoine Fausser had pressed
a claim for a debt of a hundred and forty-two livres ;
and, having gone security for the ill-fated company,
Moliere was placed in a debtor's cell. On the fifth
of August the civil lieutenant, Dreux d'Aubry, ordered
him set at liberty upon his own recognisances, but one
Fran9ois Pommier, acting for other creditors, demanded
that he be reincarcerated, and a linen-draper named
Dubourg obtained a decree of arrest.

The chief of " The Illustrious Theatre " was there-!
upon again imprisoned ; but his friends rallied to his/
support, and Leonard Aubry, who paved the street
before the Mestayers' Tennis-Court for the carriages
which never came, went upon his bond.

When the young actor was released, his comrades
gathered in the Black Cross Tennis-Court, August thir-

34 MOLIERE

teenth, 1 645, and agreed to indemnify his benefactor ;
but the ranks of " The Illustrious Theatre " had been
sadly shattered. The company no longer styled itself
"The Troupe of His Royal Highness," and of the
(original members, Moliere, the Bejarts, and Germain
Clerin alone remained loyaU Catherine Bourgeois and
Germain Rabel, later recruits, signed the obligation to
the pavier, thus swelling the total of the depleted ranks
to seven Thespians all told; but the honourable inten-
tions of these wretched vagabonds were beyond their
powers of fulfilment. When the obligation to Leonard
Aubry fell due, December twenty-fourth, 1646, Moliere's
father, so frequently maligned as the original of Har-
pagon the miser, came to the relief of his wayward son
by endorsing the note, — surely not the least of the
upholsterer's good acts.

This ends the story of "The Illustrious Theatre."
Madeleine Bej art's faith in her young lover was still
unshaken, but Paris would have none of them ; so the
undaunted pair went forth to seek their fortune in the
provinces. The temptation to return to his father's
house must have been very strong, but Moliere's belief
in himself was still the confidence of youth, — the glow
in the heart that lessens only with the years.

COMEDIANS OF DUKE OF EPERNON 35

III

THE COMEDIANS OF THE DUKE OF EPERNON

WHEN Moliere fled from Paris, he became, in the phrase
of the theatre, a " barn-stormer." An ox-cart was his
home, his play-house some vacant grange or tennis-court.
Eventually he obtained a following in certain towns, and
recognition as an official entertainer in at least two
provinces ; yet for nearly thirteen years he was at best a
vagabond, tramping the highroads of France beside his
unwinged chariot. Court records, the registration of in-
fants born to his actresses, and entries in a few provincial
ledgers of payments made to his company are the only
recorded facts relating to the first eight years of his wan-
derings ; so in order that the story may be told at all, it
becomes necessary to shed a dim light of circumstantial
evidence upon that darkest period of his life.

Only the Bejarts — Madeleine, Joseph, and Genevieve
— are known to have accompanied him in his flight from
Paris, and he was of so little importance, even in the
theatrical world, that no record of his departure has been
preserved.

Catherine Bourgeois, as a member of " The Illustrious
Theatre," had paid her share of that hapless venture's
obligation to Fra^ois Pommier on the fourth of Novem-
ber, 1646, and during the following month Jean Poquelin,
senior, had endorsed his son's note to Leonard Aubry, the
pavier, to tide over " The Illustrious Theatre's " misfor-

36 MOLIERE

tunes. From this it may be argued that Moliere lingered
in Paris until the end of the year 1646 ; though sixteen
months intervened between the agreement of the shattered
company to indemnify Leonard Aubry and the date when
Moliere's father came to its relief, without any record of
intermediate financial difficulties. Catherine Bourgeois's
settlement was manifestly her own affair, and it would
have been possible for Moliere to arrange his business
with his father by correspondence, or even to take a fly-
ing trip to Paris ; therefore it is far easier to believe that
he fled to the provinces shortly after his second escape
from prison than that he was able to dodge both bailiffs
and gaolers from August thirteenth, 1645, to December
twenty-fourth, 1646.

M. Mesnard1 enhances the value of this theory that
the chief of "The Illustrious Theatre " left Paris in 1645
by quoting from the memoirs of a contemporary named
Tralage, to the effect that the " Sieur de Moliere began
to play comedy at Bordeaux in 1644 or 1645." ^ was
impossible for the poet to have reached the capital of
Guyenne until after his escape from the Chatelet in
August, 1645 ; but if he left Paris then, he might have
reached Bordeaux long before the end of that year. The
Duke of Epernon was governor of Guyenne at the time,
and, according to Tralage, " he esteemed Moliere, who
appeared to him to possess considerable wit."

There is other evidence to indicate that Moliere and
his company reached Guyenne before December, 1646.
During the autumn of that year Jean Magnon, whose
tragedy of Artaxerxes had been played by " The Illus-
trious Theatre " preliminary to its downfall, published a
tragi-comedy called Jehosophat. In the preface, he took

1 Notice biograpbique sur Moliere.

COMEDIANS OF DUKE OF fiPERNON 37

* f

occasion to thank the Duke of Epernon for " the protec-
tion and assistance he had given the most unfortunate and
one of the most deserving of French actresses." Made-
leine Bejart was undoubtedly most unfortunate at the time
this was written, and, considering Magnon's connection
with " The Illustrious Theatre," it is reasonable to sup-
pose she was the actress the Duke of Epernon be-
friended. Again, in April of that same year (1646), A.
Mareschal, another former comrade, likewise dedicated a
tragedy called Papirius; or, ^he Roman Dictator to the
Duke of Epernon, and, in his preface, refers to the troupe
his Grace had " enriched by magnificent presents as much
as by illustrious actors." l

Thus Tralage mentions Moliere as having pleased the
Duke of Epernon, while Magnon calls attention to an
unfortunate actress he had befriended, and Mareschal to
his " illustrious actors." Piecing together this fragmen-
tary evidence, it is fair to presume that Moliere, together
with Madeleine Bejart and the remnants of " The Illus-
trious Theatre," left Paris before the publication of
either Jehosophat or The Roman Dictator, and that the
Duke of Epernon extended them his patronage.

It was customary for travelling companies to organise
at Easter, so that the spring of 1646 seems a probable
date for the departure from Paris. On the other hand,
if Moliere fled from the capital immediately after his
escape from prison, he reached Bordeaux before the end
of the year, which would accord with Tralage's statement
that he was there in 1644 or 1645.

Of far more human interest, however, than the date of
his departure for the provinces is the fact that he had

1 M. de Modene : ses deux femmes et Madeleine Bejart, by Henri
Chardon.

38 MOLIERE

the pluck to persevere in his chosen calling. Over-
whelmed by discouragement and disgraced by a debtors
cell, his most natural course would have been to re-enact
the story of the prodigal's return ; but rather than ac-
knowledge defeat, he became an outcast denied even the
right of Christian burial. An those days the strolling
player was beset by want and persecution, while the
unsettled state of French politics added the danger of
highway robbery to the certainty of police oppression.
.Courage and perseverance are qualities which distinguish
genius from mere cleverness, and when Moliere turned
his back upon the joys of Paris to lead a life of privation
and social ostracism, he proved the quality of his fibre.

The best existing picture of life in a travelling the-
atrical company, at the time when Moliere took to the
highroads of France, is in Scarron's Comic Romance (Le
Roman comique), a story of the trials, tribulations, and
amours of a band of strolling players, told with true
picaresque humour and gaiety. It was evidently in-
spired by some travelling company which the worldly
abbe met while attending the general chapter of St.
Julien at Le Mans in 1646, and as Moliere and La
Bejart bear a vague resemblance to the hero and heroine,
more than one attempt has been made to prove that
he had them particularly in mind. But other theatrical
companies were tramping the highroads at the time, and
M. Chardon,1 who has studied the matter exhaustively,
comes to the conclusion that Moliere was not the hero.
The opening paragraph of Scarron's story might pass,
however, for a picture of Madeleine Bejart and her young
lover at the time they were forced to storm the barns of
provincial France:

1 La Troupe du Roman comique devoilce*

COMEDIANS OF DUKE OF fiPERNON 39

Between five and six in the afternoon a van entered
the market-place of Le Mans. It was drawn by four
lean oxen led by a brood mare, whose colt scampered
back and forth about the vehicle like the little fool it
was. The bags, trunks, and long rolls of painted cloth
which filled the chariot formed a sort of pyramid upon
the apex of which sat a young girl whose country
garments were relieved by a touch of city finery. A
young man, poor in dress but rich in countenance,
tramped beside the van. . . . Upon his shoulder he
carried a blunderbuss which had served to assassinate a
number of magpies, jays, and crows. These made him a
cross-belt, from which a chicken and a gosling, evidently
captured in desultory warfare, hung by the legs.

This ox-cart described by Scarron was typical of
Moliere's own chariot of Thespis. When it halted at
the end of a day's journey, village urchins greeted it
with jeers ; and while the footsore actors who had
tramped behind its creaking wheels argued with some
swaggering archer of police for permission to set up their
trestles, village rakes with feathered hats against their
breasts besieged the tired actresses, sitting huddled on
its pile of baggage, with offers of gallantry and ribald
compliment.

The strolling player found manifold trials awaiting
him on every hand ; bandits infested the highroads, the
police were merely authorised brigands, and so great was
the prejudice against his calling in certain localities that
a tatterdemalion mob armed with stones sometimes
greeted him at the end of a day's journey. Even in
more hospitable regions, he was forced to seek an official
permit to present his comedies, and for some vacant
grange or tennis-court to serve him for a play-house.
A few deals laid upon wooden trestles were the veritable

40 MOLlfeRE

" boards " he trod ; and as his theatre was frequently a
barn, the term " barn-stormer " is no misnomer. If his
company were affluent, it might boast a roll or two of
canvas daubed to represent a street or palace ; but his
scenery was more likely to be merely a pair of travel-
stained curtains which rumpled the hair of his tragedy
queen as she made her haughty entrance. His lights
were only tallow dips stuck by their own grease on a
pair of crossed laths ; his orchestra, a drum, a trumpet,
and a pair of squeaking fiddles ; while in costuming and
" make-up " he did not attempt historical accuracy ;
a tawdry toga and a plumed helmet sufficed for the
classic heroes of both Greece and Rome; a clown's
dress or swashbuckler's cloak for comedy parts. For
the buffoon, he whitened his face with flour and
pencilled grotesque moustaches on his lips with char-
coal ; but nature herself was usually the " make-up
artist."

An official permit obtained and his theatre ready, the
manager of a strolling company must then secure an
audience. This was no simple matter. His drum-beats
gathered a crowd ; and by an harangue on the marvels
of his actors he endeavoured to extract sufficient coppers
from the pockets of his yokel auditors to keep out of
the bailiff's hands. To feed a dozen mouths when five
sous was the price of admission was a task to appal even
the most aspiring heart.

Happy the comedians who obtained a governor's
patronage ! Official thorns were removed from their
path, their coffers filled from the public exchequer, pres-
ents and favours bestowed upon them ; so, in befriending
" the most unfortunate and one of the most deserving
of French actresses," the Duke of Epernon spared the

Moliere's Chariot of Thespis

COMEDIANS OF DUKE OF EPERNON 41

remnants of " The Illustrious Theatre " many a supper-
less night, many a pallet of straw.

" Our troupe is as complete as that of the Prince of
Orange, or of his Highness of Epernon," said one of
the characters in The Comic Romance. Moliere's portion
of this divided compliment was due, no doubt, to the
eventual union of his company with the troupe of
Charles Dufresne, a comedian who appeared in Lyons as
early as 1643. The date when the two organisations
joined forces is still uncertain, but it is quite likely that
Moliere, when he reached Guyenne, found Dufresne
already in the governor's favour, and, through Madeleine
Bejart's influence, was invited to join his ranks.

An acknowledgment for five hundred livres paid " The
Comedians of the Duke of Epernon " by the town au-
thorities of Albi in October, 1647, contains the names of
Dufresne, Pierre Rebelhon, and Rene Berthelot. Rebel-
lion, or Reveillon as he is usually called, played with
Moliere in the provinces, while Dufresne, as well as
Berthelot, a fat comedian known on the stage as Du
Pare and nicknamed Gros-Rene, were in the company
he brought to Paris in 1658. As the Bejarts and Moliere
are not mentioned in this document, it is uncertain whether
the two companies were yet united ; but on May eigh-
teenth of the following year (1648), Dufresne, Du Pare,
Marie Herve, and Madeleine Bejart stood sponsors at
Nantes for Reveillon's daughter.

Moliere was also in Brittany near this time ; for, ac-
cording to the municipal records of Nantes, " The Sieur
Morlierre (sic\ one of the comedians of the troupe of the
Sieur Dufresne," appeared before the civic authorities on
April twenty-third, " humbly to beg permission to erect
a stage and present comedies," — a petition refused until

4i MOLIERE

the Marechal de la Meilleraye, governor of the province,
had recovered from an illness. On May seventeenth,
Dufresne alone conferred with the aforesaid city fathers
about a performance which was to be given for charity
on the following day, while on June ninth he signed
a document pertaining to the lease of a tennis-court at
Fontenay-le-Comte ; so apparently he, and not Moliere,
was the manager of "The Duke of Epernon's Come-
dians." Being a man of greater experience, it was but
natural for him to assume the leadership until his com-
rade's genius asserted itself in no unmistakable way.
This did not occur until after the company reached
Lyons ; meantime the future poet, while serving his
apprenticeship in stagecraft, was acquiring much in the
way of worldly knowledge.

A writer who has never studied in the school of emo-
tion will find himself ill-equipped for the portrayal of
human nature ; so perhaps of even more value to Moliere
than stage experience was his experience with the sex.
He had flaunted himself out of his father's house because
he was in love with a pretty actress, but he found it quite
another matter to remain in love with her throughout the
years he spent in ox-carts, barns, and hostelries. When
the scales had fallen from his eyes, Madeleine Bejart
appeared in her true light, — a clever actress and a good
comrade, yet a woman older than himself, and one whose
life was not above reproach. She, on the other hand,
knowing his nature thoroughly, was ready to pardon his
lesser faults because of her implicit faith in his abounding
genius. His failure to realise that she was the one above
all others suited to be his helpmate was undoubtedly a
weakness in his character ; but remember he shared with
her the countless hardships of a strolling player's life.

COMEDIANS OF DUKE J3F EPERNON 43

Though a vagabond, he could never forget he had been
born above his station. His writings and his unfortunate
choice of a wife prove that he possessed a distinct ideal of
womanhood Madeleine Bejart could not fulfil. Never-
theless, his conduct during those years of wandering, if
his slanderers are to be believed, was none too scrupulous.
According to the author of The Famous Comedienne :

When the troupe arrived at Lyons, they met another
company in which were two actresses named Du Pare and
De Brie. Moliere was at first charmed by the former's
good looks, but the lady, hoping for a more brilliant
conquest, treated him so disdainfully that he was obliged
to turn his affections toward De Brie. She received
him with no such coldness, and, unable to avoid
her, he engaged her in his company, together with
Du Pare.

This story from the pen of a slanderer need not be
accepted in its entirety. On January tenth, 1650, Mo-
liere and Catherine du Rose (or Rozet) stood sponsors
for a child baptised at Narbonne, while on February
nineteenth, 1653, the poet witnessed Du Parc's marriage
at Lyons with Marquise Therese de Gorla. Catherine
du Rose was the stage name of Catherine Leclerc, who
married Edme Villiquin, a surly member of Moliere's
company called Sieur de Brie. After her marriage, she
became known as Mile, de Brie. Likewise Marquise
Therese de Gorla (Marquise being a name, not a title),
after marrying Du Pare (Gros-Rene), adopted her fat
husband's name, and is consequently the actress re-
ferred to above as Du Pare. These being the first
authentic dates regarding either lady, De Brie, rather
than her rival, would seem to have the benefit of historic
priority.

44 MOLlfeRE

Since both these actresses played a considerable part in
the poet's life, a word regarding them may not be without
interest. (De Brie was a tall, graceful blonde,1 who ap-
peared in tragedy and higher class comedy) In marked
contrast, fou Pare, the daughter of an Italian charlatan,
was a stately brunette, who played second tragedy parts
and possessed a natural talent for dancing in " a skirt so
split down the sides that her legs and part of her thighs
could be seen..!/ In spite of her great beauty and won-
derful pirouetting, such an acknowledged critic as Boileau
found Du Pare a mediocre actress ; but she had the dis-
tinction of being admired by the four greatest geniuses
of the century — Moliere at Lyons in 1653, Corneille
at Rouen in 1658, La Fontaine and Racine at Paris in
1664.

To chronicle all the meagre details of the poet's early
wanderings would be to record a tedious list of documents
and dates unearthed from time to time by some ardent
Moli'eriste. Bordeaux, Albi Nantes, Toulouse, Carcas-
sonne, Agen, Limoges, Narbonne, and Pezenas are towns
where some trace of him still remains, and on April four-
teenth, 1651, he was in Paris in connection with the
settlement of his mother's estate.

The rebellion of the Fronde broke out in 1648 ; soon
the Duke of Epernon was at war with the inhabitants of
Bordeaux ; bands of marauding soldiers made travelling
dangerous, a livelihood more difficult to gain. At Nantes,
a troupe of marionettes proved a successful competitor,
and there is a tradition that Moliere's reception at
Limoges was so hostile that the poet's antipathy for

1 Grimarest quotes a friend of Moliere's as speaking of La de

(evidently De Brie) as plain and "a skeleton"; but this is manifest
malice.

COMEDIANS OF DUKE OF EPERNON 45

the place rankled in his heart until twenty years later he
wrote Monsieur de Pourceaugnac in revenge ; but up to the
time he reached Lyons there is little to distinguish his
life from that of any other strolling player of the day.

The time of his arrival at the capital of ancient Gaul^
as well as the date of the production of The Blunderer ;
or. The Mishaps (UE,tmrdi ou les Contretemps)^ his
first successful comedy in verse, has never been conclu-
sively settled. Grimarest, however, is emphatic on the
latter point. " Moliere and his troupe," he says, "were
loudly applauded in Lyons in 16^3, where he presented
The Blunderer" ; and the preface of 1682 likewise states
that " Moliere came to Lyons in 1653 and there gave to
the public his first comedy, called The Blunderer" Such
twofold evidence would appear convincing were it not
for a direct contradiction to the effect that " this piece
was presented for the first time at Lyons in the
year 1655."

This latter quotation is from La Grange's famous
Register (Registre de la Grange]. (La Grange was an
actor who joined Moliere at Paris in 1658^ From the
time he became a member of the company until his
death, he kept a minute account of its receipts and dis-
bursements, with the dates and titles of the plays pro-
duced. So emphatic a statement by him as the foregoing
cannot be passed by without consideration. La Grange
was known in real life as Charles Varlet; in 1672 he
married Marie Ragueneau, formerly Mile, de Erie's maid,
but then a character actress in Moliere's company. This
lady's father was Cyprien Ragueneau de 1'Estang, the
pastry-cook poet, made familiar to present-day readers
by Edmond Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac. To escape
his creditors, Ragueneau fled from Paris and became a

46 MOLIERE

strolling player, but hopeless alike as pastry-cook, poet,
and comedian, he fell once more in the artistic scale and
ended his life in 1654 as moucheur, or candle snuffer, to
a Lyons play-house.1

La Grange, Ragueneau's son-in-law, would seem, at
first sight, to have been in a position to know the truth
regarding Moliere's various peregrinations to Lyons, but
before accepting his statement that The Blunderer was not
produced until 1655, it is well to remember that he did
not enter the company until 1658, nor marry Mile.
Ragueneau until eighteen years after her father's death.
He was somewhat confused in regard to the date of
Moliere's own marriage, an event which took place under
his very eyes ; so to believe that he made a mistake in
recording a play produced five years before he was a
member of the " Troupe de Moliere," requires no great
exercise of one's credulity.

There is other evidence that La Grange was in error.
An interesting document has been unearthed in the
library of the Count of Pont-de-Veyle, which sheds
light upon the date of Moliere's advent in Lyons.
Written in a time-worn hand, evidently of the period,
the following distribution of parts was found in a copy
of an early edition of Corneille's Andromeda :

1 In the last act of Rostand's play, Ragueneau appears as a moucbeur
at a Paris play-house, and tells the dying Cyrano that Moliere has
pilfered a scene from his farce The Tricked Pedant (Le Pedant joue). It
is true that the scene referred to is found in Moliere's Rascalities of
Scapin (Les Fourberies de Scapiri), but Ragueneau died at Lyons in 1654,
and De Bergerac at Paris in 1655, while Moliere did not return to the
capital until 1658 and his farce was not played until 1671. To paint
Ragueneau as a candle snuffer in Paris at the time this piece was pro-
duced, and likewise as a witness of De Bergerac' s demise a year after
his own death, is justifiable only by a very broad poetic license.

COMEDIANS OF DUKE OF EPERNON 47

Jupiter Du Pare

Juno, and Andromeda .... Mile. Bejart

Neptune De Brie

Mercury, and a page of Phineus . L'Eguise (Louis Bejart)

The Sun, and Timanthes . . . Bejart (Joseph)

Venus, Cymodocia, and Aglanthia Mile, de Brie

Melpomene, and Cephalus . . . Mile. Herve (Genevieve Bejart)

^Eolus, and Ammon .... Vauselle

Ephyra Mile. Menou

Cydippe, and Liriope .... Mile. Magdelon

The Eight Winds Supernumeraries

Cepheus Dufresne

Cassiopeia Mile. Vauselle

Phineus Chasteauneuf

Perseus Moliere

Chorus of the people .... Lestang

L'Eguise, meaning " the sharp-tongued," was the nick-
name of Louis Bejart, Madeleine's younger brother, aged
twenty-three or thereabouts, who had probably made his
debut several years previously. Chasteauneuf was an
actor who again became associated with Moliere at a later
day ; and Vauselle is the stage name of Jean-Baptiste
PHermite, whose wife, Mile. Vauselle — or Marie Cour-
tin de la Dehors — supplanted Madeleine Bejart in the
affections of Monsieur de Modene, and whose daughter,
Madeleine THermite, became the second wife of that in-
constant nobleman. Mile. Menou is a lady to whom
there will be occasion to refer in a later chapter ; but
of most moment, now, is Lestang, none other than the
bankrupt pastry-cook Ragueneau, reduced to playing
the humble chorus of the people under a stage name.
The addition of all these players to " The Duke of
fipernor^s Comedians " indicates that Andromecla was
performecT By^tnTs^cast in some large town, and the

48 MOLIERE

presence of Ragueneau would point to it as being
Lyons.

Moliere may have reached that city as early as 1651,
when he is supposed to have visited an academician
named Boissat at the neighbouring town of Vienne ;
his presence there on December nineteenth, 1652, when
Reveillon stood sponsor for a child, is indicated strongly ;
on February nineteenth, 1653, when he himself wit-
nessed the marriage of Gros-Rene and Marquise de
Gorla, it is assured.

A vagabond poet named D'Assoucy, who spent three
months at Lyons in 1655, failed to embellish his eccen-
tric memoirs l by any account of so momentous an event
as his actor friend's first success in comedy ; and as
Ragueneau died on August eighteenth, 1654, both
Andromeda and The Blunderer were, in all probability,
played in Lyons in 1653.

Far easier to decipher than the date of Moliere's first
appearance at Lyons is the reason for his advent there.
During the rebellion of the Fronde " The Duke of
Epernon's Comedians," an experienced company with a
repertory of standard plays, were forced by their patron's
political misdeeds and consequent unpopularity to leave
Guyenne and seek a new^field. In all that pertained to
the production of plays,(Moliere had become the direct-
ing spirit, while Madeleine Bejart kept an eye on the
finances^ JQufresne, an old stager already known at
Lyons, was still the nominal head of the organisation,
and, confident that in the capital of ancient Gaul lay
their best chance of fortune, he directed the steps of
his comrades thither.

1 Les Aventures de Monsieur <T Astoucy.

COMEDIANS OF DUKE OF EPERNON 49

Caravans from Germany, Provence, and Italy filled
the streets of Lyons then, and transalpine merchants
bartered for the product of her looms. Jews from Lom-
bardy and Frankfort drove bargains in bills of exchange-
but, of far more import to Moliere and his comrades
Lvons^was the haunt of the poet and exquisite, — the
provincial Mecca of the strolling player. There many
iew plays were produced, and a theatrical success won
upon the Lyons stage was little short of a Parisian tri-
umph. When the poet made his first hit before an audi-
ence of critical Lyonnais with a comedy in verse, he ceased
to be an unknown « barn-stormer " ; indeed, the outburst
f genuine laughter which greeted The Blunderer has re-
echoed through the centuries; nevertheless, the story of
that first triumph must give place for the moment to a
word upon Moliere's earlier dramatic work.

jo MOLIERE

IV
EARLY DRAMATIC EFFORTS

A TRAGEDY called The Thebald (La Thebalde) — suppos-
edly played at Bordeaux in 1 646 — has been invented,
without corroborative proof, as Moliere's first play.
This fanciful effort of our poet's youth has also been
acclaimed the inspiration of Racine's tragedy of the
same name ; but certainly until the production of The
Blunderer the truth concerning Moliere's work as a
dramatist is overshadowed by imagination. In all prob-
ability his first piece was never written at all — a paradox
inspired by the nature of the roaring farces he had seen
played in his youth.

Even the best of these were given so empirically as an
antidote for tragedy that they found no place in the liter-
ary pharmacopoeia of the day ; for, as has been noted
in a previous chapter, such farces were bare outlines to
which the actor's wit applied the dialogue. Used as
afterpieces at the Hotel de Bourgogne or as drawing
cards for prating quacks, they were but Italian scenarii
adapted to French usage, while the farceur himself
remained the servile imitator of the Italian buffoon.

The action was developed in a single act, and to per-
mit the player to suit the humour of his audience, prose
was the vehicle employed. Verse being the medium of
both tragedy and comedy, farce consequently was with-

EARLY DRAMATIC EFFORTS 51

out the literary pale, and about the time Moliere fled
from Paris it was banished altogether from established
play-houses. Until he made the King laugh with a farce
from his own pen, this coarse form of merriment was
confined to the booths of quack doctors or the barns
and tennis-courts of provincial France.

Needless to say that pieces intended to amuse an audi-
ence of yokels in an age of license, were distinguished
by neither refinement nor finesse. They have been aptly
described as composed of "imbecile old men, young
libertines, women of every kind — except the good, two
or three disguises, three or four surprises, combats, and
tumults." As the earliest of Moliere's existing farces
were much in the vein of these buffooneries, his first
attempt at play-making was probably an unwritten dose
of humour administered by "The Duke of Epernon's
Comedians" to drive away the melancholy resulting from
some turgid drama.

Although a great poet and a still greater philosopher,
Moliere was considered a farceur by his contemporaries,

— a crime in him that Boileau never pardoned. He began
and ended his life work with farce ; whenever he forsook
this form of construction it was to gratify his King or to
unburden his own heart. Because of a genius for jug-
glery, or rather an unerring skill in painting human
nature, his deft hand often made farce appear in the
guise of character comedy ; but when the most popular
of his plays are analysed — plays with characters so
human as Harpagon the miser, Monsieur Jourdain the
socially ambitious parvenu, and Argan the hypochondriac

— they are found to be farces in construction, traceable

to Italian, Spanish, or classical sources.
^ ^*™ •••••••|™"1" "^'^^•••^••••••••^•••••••^•••^^

This is not said by way oFreproach. Moliere boasted

52 MOLIERE

that "he took possession of his property wherever found,"1
and literary grave robbery was then a petty offence. In-
deed, in all literary justice, every author who embalms a
stolen body and dresses it so gorgeously in garments of
his own creation that it is mistaken for an idol should
receive a high priest's homage, not a desecrator's male-
diction. Moliere did even more : he created French
comedy from the dust of Menander and Plautus, breath-
ing into it the spirit of Italian mummery.

Finding himself a member of a strolling company sorely
in need of farces, and having a better education than his
comrades, he began their manufacture. Naturally he
turned for his models to those seen in his youth, — the
Italian scenarii of the Hotel du Petit Bourbon, the
canevas of the Hotel de Bourgogne and the Pont-Neuf.
Gros-Rene: A School-boy (Gros-Rene: holier) , The Three
Rival Doctors (Les Trois docteurs rivaux), The School-
master (Le Maitre d'ecole), Gorgibus in the Bag (Gorgibus
dans le sac). The Fagot Gatherer (Le Fagotier), The
Physician in Love (Le Docteur amoureux), Gros-Ren'es
Jealousy (La Jalousie du Gros-Rene), and The Cassock
(La Casaque) are the titles of canevas attributed to
Moliere ; but the only examples of this form of work
which have been preseryjsd are The Jealousy of Smutty
Face (La Jalousie du barbouille) and The Flying Physician
(Le Medecin volant). These two early attempts, both
of uncertain date, are as crude as their author's models,
and unworthy of notice except as forming the stepping-
stones of a genius toward fame.

The Jealousy of Smutty Face, suggestive of a story by
Boccaccio, but probably taken by Moliere from some
Italian scenario, is merely a jumble in one act of broad
1 See note, page 351.

EARLY DRAMATIC EFFORTS 53

humour with little variety of scene or story. A wife's
father and a pedant intervene in a matrimonial squabble
in a comic but inconclusive way, and the closing speech,
" Let 's all take supper together," shows the tenor of thistr
' bit of aimless fun. The character of the pedant is note-
worthy as heralding the ostentatious but empirical man of
learning Moliere so delighted in portraying later. To
hold impostures up to scorn became his aim in after life,
I and jealousy the keynote of his own misery. By a
coincidence almost prophetic, the pedant and the jealous
husband both appear in this, his earliest existing play.

The Flying Physician is merely a French adaptation
of // Medico volant e, a scenario played by Scaramouch e.
Entirely Italian in spirit and far less simple than its
predecessor, it is, in brief, a coarse farce in one act of
"three or four surprises and two or three disguises."
The use here made of a door and a window by a character
who disappears and reappears as speedily as Harlequin in
the Christmas pantomime, indicates that Moliere's com-
pany carried scenery, while its story of a lover aided by a
rascally servant in outwitting an obdurate father, a favour-
ite theme of Italian farce, recurs more than once in the
poet's later plays. A matter of more moment, however,
is the first appearance here of the merry-andrew character,
Sganarelle. To aid a pair of lovers, he is represented as
assuming a doctor's guise, and it is interesting to note
that this incident became the motive of Moliere's far
more amusing farce, The Doctor in Spite of Himself (Le
Medecin malgre /#/').

In The Flying Physician Sganarelle is represented as
a masquerading foitrbe, or knave, and one is tempted
to believe that injdb^jgd^mal
Mascarille — a name derived from the Spanish term

54 MOLIERE

mascarilla, meaning a little mask, or from the Italian word
maschera — and used by Moliere in other farces of this
period to designate this same rascally, intriguing servant
of Italian origin. Sganarelle, being a French translitera-
tion of the Italian word Zannarelloy the diminutive of
Zanni (a familiar form of Giovanni), is our English zany,
a silly-John, or foolish clown in a play. In all other
instances Moliere's Sganarelle, even when endowed with
the attributes of a French bourgeois and voicing the
poet's own sentiments, was within this definition.

A recurrence of the same character in successive pieces
was so usual at the time, that farceurs, both Italian and
French, became known by the roles they played habitu-
ally ; thus, the Italian buffoon, Tiberio Fiurelli, was
called Scaramouche ; and Rene Berthelot — Du Pare of
Moliere's company — Gros-Rene. Moliere discarded
the role of his early successes shortly after his return to
Paris, and his reputation as an author soon overshadowed
his histrionic ability, else he would probably have been
known to posterity as Mascarille.

Both Mascarille and Sganarelle are more than mere \ >
low-comedy characters. Each represents a period of (/
Moliere's work and a distinct phase in his development.
When he began writing farce, he was a dweller in that
land of the free and home of the beautiful we call
Bohemia : to thwart a bailiff was his pastime ; to supply
humour for a company of strolling players his chief
care. The farces and comedies he wrote under these
conditions are entirely in the spirit of Italian zanyism ;
and sprightly, quick-witted Mascarille, their recurring
character, is typical of these happy-go-lucky days in the
poet's own life. This Mascarille, the gran furbo of
decadent Italy, is a rascal, cunning to a degree, and

EARLY DRAMATIC EFFORTS 55

wholly without morals. His intimacy with his master
is transalpine, too, for as some Frenchman contends —
and if memory serves it is Stendhal — "in Italy there
is a diversity in fortune, but none in manners." Moliere
made no attempt to gallicise either the plots or the
characters of his earlier plays, and even The Blunderer,
though an ambitious comedy in verse, is really an
adaptation.

This first, or Italian, period ended in 1659 with the
production of Les Precieuses ridicules^ that play of un-
translatable title — unless one is willing to countenance ,
The Laughable Lady-Euphuists. Mascarille, a natural-
ised Frenchman at last, made his final appearance in \
this brilliant comedy of manners : the first true flight
of Moliere's genius beyond Italian zanyism. J

If Mascarille be typical of the Italian, Sganarelle may \
be said to represent the second, or Gallic, period of \
Moliere's work. Discarding transalpine models, except
as bare suggestions in the way of plots, the poet became
truly national ; for in such comedies as The School for
Husbands (V Ecole des marts , 1661), The School for Wives
(L'Ecole des femmes, 1662), and The Forced Marriage
(Le Mariage force, 1664), his point of view is essentially
Gallic, his wit in the spirit of Rabelais. Sganarelle,
too, though first a zany, is always a bourgeois through
and through, and often a jealous man of forty in love
with a young coquette : in other words, a Frenchman
and another phase of the poet himself.

Closely allied with the Gallic, in point of time, was
the third, or obsequious, period when Moliere's art
became a courtier's stratagem. To win the favour of
his King, he wrote court plays, such as The Bores
(Les Facheux, 1661), The Versailles Impromptu (LIm-

56 MOLIERE

promptu de Versailles, 1663), and various ballets for
the royal fetes. They were merely a means to an
end, but none the less they represent another aspect
of Moliere. He no longer walked in Italian leading-
strings, and his wit became more delicate than the broad
Gallic humour of Sganarelle; but he was Moliere, the
courtier, a man who felt it an honour to make the King's
bed, who never lost an opportunity to sign his name
valet de chambre tapissier du roi.1

When thus assured of his monarch's protection, he
arose in all his strength and became the poet militant.
Two masterpieces, The Hypocrite (Le Tartuffe) and The
Misanthrope, distinguish the fourth period, or that of
aggression. Success walked hand in hand with him,
but happiness had turned aside; gaining full knowl-
edge of the canting world after " the voice of all the
gods " had spoken bitterly, he became the champion of
truth, the implacable foe of imposture and formalism.
Realising to the full his highest duty, he attacked the
foibles and hypocrisy of society with "ridiculous like-
nesses/' His genius reached its zenith then.

In the period that followed, his powers began to wane,
almost imperceptibly, it is true, but with a recognition of
the futility of breaking lances against church walls which
left him content with satirical rapier play. Apprentice
in an Italian workshop, then Gallic journeyman, courtier,
and knight-errant, he became at last a master craftsman ;
for, if the period of The Hypocrite and The Misanthrope
was militant, the next, and last, was fully histrionic.

1 Even when a strolling player, he signed his name at Narbonne, in
1650, as " Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, valet de chambre du roi," although
he had previously renounced the reversion of his father's office in favour
of his younger brother.

EARLY DRAMATIC EFFORTS 57

To be convinced of this one need only study the
Moliere repertory of the Theatre Fran9ais at the pres-
ent time. The Doctor in Spite of Himself y The Miser,
The Burgher, a Gentleman (Le Bourgeois gentilhomme),
The Rascalities of Scapin (Les Fourberies de Scapin), The
Learned Women (Les Femmes savantes), and The Imaginary
Invalid, the most readily acted as well as the most fre-
quently presented of his plays, were still to be written,
and all during the last seven years of his life. It was a
period of unerring success from the dramatic point of
view; but one may still search through it in vain for a
poetical masterpiece of human philosophy such as The
Misanthrope.

This division of Moliere's work into five periods has
been made in order that the reader may understand how
thoroughly the poet's muse was affected by the events of
his own life. An author may write what he has seen,
what he has felt, or what he has imagined ; and Moliere's
work, like that of nearly every genius, was a constant
blending of the three. He wrote what he saw and what
he imagined, yet his writing was invariably tempered by
his own feelings at the time. In his plays one may read
the story of his life : Mascarille, the light-hearted bohe-
mian ; Sganarelle, the jealous man of forty seeking do-
mestic happiness in vain; Eraste, the courtier and wit
condemned to be bored since he durst not offend ; Alceste,
the generous misanthrope who, in spite of his philosophy
of life and knowledge of the world's imposture, loves a S
heartless coquette because "he cannot banish all past
tenderness, howsoever ardently he longs to hate her "; and
in a way, Argan, the hawking invalid, married to a faith-
less wife, — are, part by part, Moliere himself, concealed
little more than the ostrich with its head in the sand.

58 MOLlfeRE

To appreciate how unconsciously his imagination was
influenced by experience, one should have undergone the
discouragement, indifference, toleration, praise, and envy
which are the lot of even a moderately successful author ;
above all, realise that " learning is but an adjunct to our-
self," for in the words of Moliere's one surpassing rival :

«• Never durst poet touch a pen to write

Until his ink were temper'd with love*s sighs ;
Oh, then his lines would ravish savage ears
And plant in tyrants mild humility.
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive :
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ;
They are the books, the arts, the academes
That show, contain, and nourish all the world :
Else none at all in aught proves excellent."

This grouping of Moliere's plays as Italian, Gallic,
time-serving, militant, and histrionic, in accordance with
the poet's varying sentiments and ambitions, may be open
to challenge ; but any classification from a purely literary
point of view would be more difficult to compass, since,
partly owing to fear of giving too great offence, partly to
wise generalship, his work invariably took a reactionary
turn after each step in advance.

Returning to the first, or Italian period, it should be
borne in mind that only .jour of Moliere's earlier pieces
have been preserved : The Jealousy of Smutty Facey The
Flying Physician, The Blunderer, and The Love Tiff (Le
Depit amoureux).1 The first two, as has been seen, are
unworthy of consideration in the literary sense ; bu/ The
Blunderer, his first play in verse, was likewise the first
demonstration that he possessed qualities beyond those

1 The Love Tiff, produced at Beziers in 1656, is considered in the
ensuing chapter.

EARLY DRAMATIC EFFORTS 59

of a mere farceur^ When Moliere wrote this piece,
tragi-comedy had banished farce to the provinces. Pure
comedy did not exist. Corneille, it is true, had trans-
formed a Spanish comedia1 into the versified 'The Liar, a
so-called comedy, and in doing this he is said to have
pointed the road for Moliere. When the younger poet
turned an Italian comedia into another so-called comedy
and named it 'The Blunderer, he did no more than follow
in the footsteps of his guide.

A farce is a play full of exaggeration and drollery ; a
comedy, a dramatic picture of life treated sincerely but
lightly. Absurd situations distinguish the one ; truth
and characterisation the other ; therefore, in spite of
their Alexandrine verses and five-act construction, both
The Liar and The Blunderer were but exotic farces trans-
planted to French soil under a false name.

By putting stage humour into literary form, Corneille
pointed the road, perhaps, but he did not create French
comedy. To Moliere belongs thatjionpur ; for although
farcicaF in~~cbnstruction, Les Pr'ecieuses ridicules is the first
true dramatic picture of the light and trivial occurrences
of French life. However, Moliere's first genuine comedy
must give place for the time being to the story of his first
success.

When he reached Lyons about 1653, he was still a
strolling player whose farces had no more merit than
those of any other play-hack of the time. They were,
indeed, so coarse that he felt called upon to write some-
thing more suitable to the taste of a cosmopolitan city,
and, as the rich of Lyons were bankers from Lombardy
and Tuscany, an Italian motive seemed most likely to fill
the coffers of his company.

1 La Verdad sospecbosa.

60 MOLlfiRE

Troupes of comedians from Italy had frequently made
pilgrimages to the city by the Rhone ; and one in partic-
ular, called the Gelosi, led by Francesco Andreini, together
with his more celebrated sister, Isabella, had even had the
honour of playing at Paris before Louis XIII, when
Moliere was a lad. In this company was a comedian
named Nicolo Barbieri, known on the stage as Beltrame,
who, like Moliere, was a composer of farces for his troupe.
Barbieri, becoming more ambitious, decided to embroider
one of his best scenani into a written farce ; but the
subject had been used by Plautus and, again, by a blind
poet of the Renaissance named Luigi Groto ; so he could
hardly lay claim to it as his own property.

Moliere, following in Barbieri's footsteps, thought the
time-worn plot of this play, The Dolt (L'lnawertito),
might be worked over so as to appeal once more to the
Italian taste of Lyons ; and when it had been refurbished
in Alexandrine verse and rechristened by him, it became
The Blunderer; or, The Mishaps (UEtourdi ou les Centre-
temps). Because its five-act construction and classical
versification raise it, from a purely literary point of view,
far above the level of farce, many critics accept this play
as Moliere' s first real comedy ; but when looked at from
the stage point of view, it stands as farce pure and
simple. Filled with absurd and improbable situations, it
could by no stretch of the imagination be styled a sincere
dramatic picture of life. To be convinced of this, one
need only to study its exaggerated plot.

The scene is laid in Messina, where Pandolfe, a worthy
citizen, has arranged that his son Lelie shall marry
Hippolyte, the daughter of Anselme, his bosom friend.
Unfortunately for the realisation of this parental scheme,
Lelie is in love with Clelie, a beautiful slave, owned by a

EARLY DRAMATIC EFFORTS 61

cantankerous master named Trufaldin, while Hippolyte
has bestowed her unrequited affections upon Leandre, a
young man of good family, who, like Lelie, is infatuated
with the slave girl and intent upon possessing her. Lelie
is the blunderer whose stupidities give the piece its name ;
Mascarille,his rascally servant, whose mischievous schemes
to aid in rescuing Clelie from the hands of Trufaldin are
unwittingly blocked by his master.

To thread the maze of Mascarille's intrigues and Lelie's
blundering would only weary the reader ; for the rascal's
trickery, though amusing when presented before an audi-
ence, is highly improbable and hard to follow. As he
invariably fails to inform his master of his schemes, the
latter as conscientiously upsets them by some stupid coun-
terplot. Whether it be a plan to make old Anselme
overlook a purse he has dropped by flattering him with
a story of a lady's languishing love for him, or an at-
tempt to enter Trufaldin's house with a party of maskers
for the purpose of abducting Clelie, the outcome is the
same. Lelie either picks up the purse and returns it to
its lawful owner, or warns Trufaldin of the intended raid,
before Mascarille can make him aware that he is spoiling
a scheme to purloin the purchase price of Clelie or a
brilliant plan to forestall his rival, Leandre.

In fact, the plot of The Blunderer is one quick succes-
sion of knaveries in which Mascarille, by the use of
every stratagem he can invent, endeavours to obtain pos-
session of Clelie in the interest of a master who, with the
best of intentions, is ever upsetting the rascal's plans,
until he finally exclaims that he will no longer ask help
because he is " a dog, a traitor, a detestable wretch whom
death alone can succour, unworthy of aid and incapable
of anything." But before suicide can orown Lelie's folly,

62 MOLIERE

Clelie turns out to be Trufaldin's long-lost daughter
and is duly given in marriage to her blundering lover.
Leandre requites Hippolyte's enduring passion, and
Mascarille exclaims in his single blessedness, " May
heaven give us children whose fathers we really are ! "

Mr. Richard Mansfield once told the present writer
that he would not accept a play unless the scenario could
be written on a visiting card. He meant that a well-
constructed modern piece should tell its story so concisely
that the curtain situations, climax, and denouement could
be indicated within limits so narrow. Judged by such a
standard, The Blunderer fails lamentably. It is, however,
an unfair example of Moliere's craftsmanship. Far too
involved and with situations too exaggerated for true
comedy, the marvellous characterisation which so dis-
tinguishes his later work is almost entirely lacking.
Later in life he tells stories of human interest in so
concise a way that he may be justly called the first
modern play-writer, but not until after his genius has
risen superior to Italian zanyism.

The Blunderer, it should be remembered, is little more
than a French adaptation of an Italian farce filched from
classic sources. Mascarille is a paraphrase of Pseudolus,
the knavish slave of Plautus, and the play itself merely a
new rendering of an old plot which, shorn of Alexandrine
verse, remains farce pure and simple. Instead of pre-
senting it as an original piece of work, Moliere gave it
an Italian hall-mark ; but he was then unready to exclaim,
as he did at a later day, " Let us cease to be Italian, let
us disdain being Spanish, let us be French."

Far from being a natural type, knavish Mascarille is
merely the vehicle for an intricate plot ; but on the other
hand artless Lelie, the blunderer, rings true. His very

EARLY DRAMATIC EFFORTS 63

folly is genuine, and, being a lovable personality who
falls a victim to his own frankness, he may be said to
foreshadow Moliere's powers of characterisation. His
passion for Clelie, too, is a commendable sentiment ; for
even when strategy forces him to depreciate her qualities,
he exclaims in all sincerity, " To blame where I adore is
to wound me to the soul." His honest incapacity for
deception is again shown when, smuggled into Trufaldin's
house disguised as an Armenian, he is admonished in this
manner by Mascarille for so clearly showing his love :

What tantalises me beyond compare

Is seeing you so far forget yourself.

By Clelie' s side, your love is like a porridge

Stewing up to its brim beside too fierce

A fire, then boiling over everywhere,

LELIE

Could I coerce myself to more restraint ?
Thus far with her I 've scarcely had a word.

MASCARILLE

In sooth; yet silence is not all. Your conduct
During one moment of the feast lent more
Of substance to suspicion than the rest
Would give in all the year.

LELIE

Pray you, explain.

MASCARILLE

Explain what all have seen ? Your eyes were e'er

Close fixed upon the table-seat where she

Was placed by Trufaldin. To everything

Oblivous, you ogled, blushed, and saw

Not what they served ; for only when she drank

Did dryness parch your lips. Her glass you seized

64 MOLlfeRE

With eagerness from out her hand, you stopped
To rinse it not, drank down the dregs, lost ne'er
A drop, and boldly showed your preference
For spots her lips had pressed. Yes, every bit
She touched with her fair hand or chose to put
To her white teeth, you laid your paw upon
Far quicker than a cat upon a mouse —
To gobble it as if it were pease-pudding.

From the literary point of view, such touches of genu-
ine sentiment, told with true poetical feeling, entitle The
Blunderer to the name of comedy it has always borne.
In spite of seemingly inexhaustible intrigue, it is still
above mere Italian farce; for its verse, although not
masterful, is delightful in expression and literary in
quality. Judged as the first attempt of a dramatic
hack to rise above the vulgarity of one-act canevas, it
is indeed a marvellous performance. When first pre-
sented, it carried fastidious Lyons by storm and raisedl y
this strolling play-wright to the rank of dramatic poet.
Even now one cannot read its sprightly story without
realising that a new king was crowned that day.

COMEDIANS OF PRINCE OF CONTI 65

THE COMEDIANS OF THE PRINCE OF CONTI

No longer a disheartened youth fleeing from his creditors,
the Moliere that left Lyons during the summer of 1653
was a fairly successful man of thirty-one. The tempestu-
ous days of his youth were over; his love for Madeleine
Bejart had reached the comfortable stage of companion-
ship ; the occasional flurries which disturbed his calm,
such as his fancies for Miles, du Pare and de Brie,
were nothing more than passing zephyrs. The storm of
passion which was to embitter later years had shown no
signs of gathering. The man was a vagabond, it is true,
but a prosperous vagabond with a following in the cities
of the South, and friends to welcome him. Capricious
Paris was still unwon, but his unconquered fields were
merely those of ambition.

While he was winning his first laurel crown on the
Lyons stage, Moliere's former schoolmate, Armand de
Bourbon, Prince de Conti and generalissimo of the opera
boufFe army of the Fronde, had been making peace with
Mazarin. The wily cardinal, thinking a friend in hand
better than an enemy at large, granted the rebellious
prince complete amnesty with a view to offering him his
niece, Anna Martinozzi, in marriage and, with her, the
governorship of a province, when the young man's tem-
per should have cooled sufficiently. Conti spent his
period of probation at the chateau of La Grange des Pres

66 MOLlfiRE

in Languedoc in company with Mme. de Calvimont,
his mistress, who, like most frivolous ladies, found that
country life paled before the gaieties of Paris. The mild
diversions of Languedoc being soon exhausted, she pro-
posed to send for some comedians, — a caprice not to
be doubted, since the story is told at first hand in the
memoirs of the Abbe Daniel de Cosnac.

Having the disbursement of the prince's fund for
amusement, this prelate decided to gratify the lady's
whim by engaging Moliere's troupe, then in Languedoc,
for some performances. Another company, managed by
an actor named Cormier, had arrived in the neighbouring
city of Pezenas meanwhile, and, royal mistresses being
nothing if not fickle, Mme. de Calvimont declared she
could wait no longer for her diversion.1 To humour
her the prince summoned this rival organisation to his
chateau, and the upshot was that when Moliere arrived
he found Cormier in possession. He demanded full
payment for his services, but this Conti refused. The
abbe, having pledged his word, was on the point of pre-
senting the disgruntled actor with a thousand 'ecus of his
own money, when the prince was persuaded by his secre-
tary, the poet Sarrasin, to command a performance at La
Grange des Pres. Moliere's company did not please
Mme. de Calvimont, and was consequently out of fa-
vour with her royal lover; but the audience found it
superior to the rival troupe, both in acting and mise en
scene. After a second performance the praise was so
universal that the prince was forced to banish Cormier.

1 Because of the readiness with which she accepted presents, Sainte-
Beuve calls Mme. de Calvimont la femme a cadeauxt — a name well
merited, since the Abbe de Cosnac assures us that Cormier rewarded her
liberally for the privilege of playing at La Grange des Pres.

COMEDIANS OF PRINCE OF CONTI 67

The chasm between royalty and vagabondism being too
great for any boyhood friendship to bridge, youthful ties
played small part in the bestowal of Conti's patronage.
On the contrary, Moliere's success seems to have been
due to the charm of one of his actresses ; for the Abbe
de Cosnac in his guileless way observes that " the prince's
secretary supported Moliere's company in the first in-
stance at his instigation, but after falling a victim to
the charms of Mile, du Pare, he became its champion
for her sake,"

In telling the story of "The Illustrious Theatre"
Grimarest says that " the Prince de Conti invited Moliere
to his Parisian hotel on several occasions and encouraged
him " ; but Armand de Bourbon was not likely to have
been a patron of the drama at the age of fifteen, and his
reception to Moliere at La Grange des Pres was not of
the nature one would expect from a former protector and
schoolmate. There is a possibility, of course, that Moliere
appeared at the Hotel de Conti in 1651, when in Paris to
transact business in connection with his mother's estate ;
but it is far more likely that his first professional appear-
ance before the Prince de Conti was the one at La Grange
des Pres just recounted (September, 1653), — an event so
momentous that for three years thereafter his company) I
was known as " The Comedians of the Prince de Conti."

In order to indulge in a final debauch before going to
Paris for his wedding, Conti, shortly after Moliere's debut
at La Grange des Pres, set out for Montpellier to visit the
Comte d'Aubijoux, the governor. There he dismissed
Mme. de Calvimont with a niggardly gift of six hun-
dred pistoles,1 and installed in her place a certain Mile.

L The prince's original gift was six hundred pistoles, but the Abbe
de Cosnac, charged with the dismissal of Mme. de Calvimont, increased

68 MOLIERE

Rochelle. His stinginess was notorious, but with the
public funds he was not so chary. After he had married
Mazarin's niece and been named Governor of Guyenne
(February twenty-second, 1654), Moliere's troupe was
summoned to the States (Les Etats) held at Montpellier
during the winter of 1654-55, and was so well reimbursed
from the parliamentary exchequer that, on February
eighteenth, 1655, Antoine Baralier, tax-gatherer at Mon-
telimart, acknowledged an indebtedness to Madeleine
Bejart (probably acting as the troupe's treasurer) of
thirty-two hundred livres. By April first the profits of
the organisation had so augmented that La Bejart was
able to lend the province of Languedoc the sum of ten
thousand livres, while, at a session of the States held at
Pezenas in the winter of 1655-56, the authorities paid the
company the sum of six thousand livres for its services.1
The years of discouragement were ended. Hence-
forth there is no distress to chronicle, unless it be a
collection said to have been made among the inhabitants
of Marseillan for " the relief of these comedians whom
insufficient receipts had placed in need," or a dispute with
the magistrates of Vienne over the right to play in their
city. Moliere, the manager of a successful company,

this sum to a thousand — the only present, save a diamond, which the lady
ever received from her miserly protector ; making her habit of receiving
gifts from others seem less unpardonable.

1 The hv re, originally of the value of a pound of silver (the /<?/, or sou,
being a twentieth part thereof) , is the modern franc. Its weight and
value have varied considerably during the centuries. In Moliere's day
the livre tournois of twenty sols, or sous (there being also a livre parisis
of twenty-five sous), had a purchasing power about equivalent to that of
the American dollar of to-day. The pistole^ according to M. E. Littre
( Dictionnatre de la Langue Fran$aisi) , was worth ten hv res tournois ;
the ecu, three livres.

COMEDIANS OF PRINCE OF CONTI 69

now playing a season in Lyons, now returning to f
Languedoc at the summons of a prince, was likewise a I
dramatic poet of considerable local reputation. His 1
treasury was comfortably filled ; but he was a vagabond
in the eyes of society and the law, nevertheless.

Nicolas Chorier, in his Life of Pierre de Boissat yl pre-
sents Moliere's social standing in an unmistakable way.
Boissat, a member of the Academy, who had been a
loose living author of erotic novels in his youth, had
settled down at Vienne, a suburb of Lyons, to pass the
remainder of his days in the contrite scribbling of moral
treatises. The actor's senior by some twenty years, he
was none the less his friend ; and, according to Chorier,
did not go about speaking ill of him, " like certain
people who affected a foolish and haughty austerity of
manner toward Moliere," but insisted that " a man so
distinguished in his art should have a place at his table."
Moreover, when the actor visited Vienne, Boissat gave
him excellent suppers, and " did not, like some fanatics,
place him in the ranks of c impious rascals/ although he
was excommunicated." A writer himself, this acade-
mician viewed Moliere in a liberal light, but the attitude
of the Church towards the stage was so rancorous that to
the community at large a strolling player, such as he,
was an excommunicated reprobate. Professionally he
might visit the chateau of a prince, or draw a pension
from the treasury of a province, but his place was still
among the outcasts.

Boissat, however, was not the only man of intelli-
gence to recognise Moliere's merit during those years of"
wandering. There is a tradition that when he first took
to the road, he knew the poet Goudouli, and used to

1 De Petri Boessatii . . . vita amicisque litter atis.

70 MOLIERE

visit him at Toulouse ; but a more incontestable friend-
ship was that with two artist brothers named Mignard.
Nicolas, the elder, a painter, architect, and engraver of
Avignon, persuaded him to give some performances in
the papal city ; while Pierre, his more celebrated younger
brother, painted his portrait as Caesar in Corneille's
Pompey.

Pierre Mignard had been destined by his father for
the medical profession, but his love of art had been too
strong to overcome — a story not unlike that of Moliere's
own experience with the law and the stage — and possibly
this resemblance in their early lives proved the bond of
sympathy which made their friendship lasting.

At Carcassonne, in 1651 or 1652, Moliere met
Charles Coypeau d'Assoucy, a scapegrace poet, who sang
his own verses to a tinkling lute; and in 1655 they
passed three months together at Lyons. D'Assoucy
had been one of the bohemian set in Moliere's youth,
of which Chapelle and Bachaumont were shining lights;
being in a state of abject poverty through a passion for
gaming, Moliere took pity on him, and invited him to
be his guest during a trip to Avignon.

Known as Scarron's monkey, and styled by himself
the " Emperor of Burlesque," this profligate travelled
through France and Italy attended by two fantastic
pages whose sex was a matter of dispute ; but he had
sufficient manliness to say in his autobiography l that
" what pleased him most at Lyons was meeting Moliere
and the Bejart brothers." " As comedy has its charms,"
he continues, " I could not leave such delightful friends,
so I remained three months at Lyons amid the dice-cups,
comedians, and feasts, although I should have done far

1 Les Aventures de Monsieur <T Assouey.

COMEDIANS OF PRINCE OF CONTI 71

better not to have remained a single day." This appar-
ent ingratitude was inspired by a realisation of his beset-
ting sin ; for when he and Moliere drifted down the
Rhone to Avignon, the wretch lost his last tcu, his ring,
and his cloak at the dice-cups, yet paid the following
tribute to the actor's generosity and friendship :

As a man is never poor so long as he has friends, so
I, having the esteem of Moliere and the friendship of all
the Bejart family, found myself richer and more content
than ever. These generous people were not satisfied
with assisting me as a friend, but wished to treat me as
one of the family. Being summoned to the States, they
took me with them to Pezenas, and words fail to tell of
all the favours I received from the entire household. It
is said that the best of brothers is tired at the end of
one month of feeding his brother; but these people,
more generous than all the brothers one could have,
never tired through all one winter of seeing me at their
table.

That table was well furnished, for Moliere lived on
the fat of the land during those Languedocian days.
When at Narbonne, he was always a guest at the Three
Nurses Hotel ; and he grew so fond of the succulent
fish and waterfowl of Meze that the hostelry there,
known as the Holy Spirit, obtained the sobriquet of
" The Actors' Inn." " Never was a beggar thus fat-
tened ! " cries D'Assoucy, — an exclamation which causes
Karl Mantzius1 to draw this charming picture of Mo-
Here's well-filled board and its familiars:

His [D'Assoucy's] words conjure up before our eyes
the picture of Madeleine Bejart, strong and well built,

1 Moliere and his Times : The Theatre in France in the Seventeenth
Century, Vol. IV, History of Theatrical Art.

72 MOLIERE

with her bright, intelligent face, presiding over the
sumptuous table, where seven or eight courses were the
usual fare; Moliere, — with his large brown eyes under
dark, bushy brows, and a humorous smile about his full,
sensitive mouth, — watching the greedy, loquacious poet
of the highroads, who is having an argument with the
sharp tongued Louis Bejart, while the quiet elder brother
sits by and enjoys himself in silence. But after the
meal musical instruments are brought out, the sparkling
ruby-coloured muscat is placed on the table, and merry
songs and stories go on, till Madeleine's authoritative
voice gives the signal to break up, and every one goes
about his business. Moliere retires to work at a new
five-act play in verse, Joseph Bejart puts the last touch
to his work on heraldry,1 Madeleine goes to her accounts,
while D'Assoucy makes an effort to tear himself away
from the sweet muscat wine.

Chapelle and Bachaumont went South during the
autumn of 1656; and if Moliere met them journeying
through Languedoc, as the story goes,2 the sight of these
comrades of his youth must have made him long for
the joys of Paris ; yet his friendships were not confined
to poets, artists, and gay sprigs from the capital. One
at least was of a more commercial nature.

In the town of Sigean, not far from Narbonne, lived
Martin-Melchoir Dufort, a burgher, with whom Moliere

1 Rccueil des titres, qualites, blazons et armes des Seigneurs Barons des
Estats Generaux de la Province de Languedoc tenus a Pezenas, 1654.

2 M. Mesnard {Notice biograpbique sur Moliere) does not believe
that Chapelle met Moliere during this trip. In substantiation of this
contention he calls attention to the fact that Chapelle in his account of
this journey (foyage de Cbapelle, Saint-Marc edition, 1755) describes
a comedy he saw played at a country house near Carcassonne, which
"was not bad/' but makes no mention of Moliere, — a strange omission,
had he met his old schoolmate at this time.

COMEDIANS OF PRINCE OF CONTI 73

is reputed to have lodged when he travelled in the
service of his King. This journey itself being a matter
of doubt, the story that Dufort came to Moliere's aid at
a later day may be accepted with reservations, especially
as there are two ways of telling it. The popular version
is that, instead of being paid for his services during the
States held at Montpellier in 1654-55, the actor received
a promissory note drawn upon the military fund of the
province (fonds des etapes) for five thousand livres.
Though a considerable sum, this was not ready money,
but Dufort played the friend in need by discounting the
royal paper with twelve hundred and fifty livres cash and
a bill of exchange for the remainder.

M. Loiseleur,1 on the other hand, insists that, a
draft being drawn by one Cassaignes (joint trustee with
Moliere's friend of the military fund) on Dufort himself,
this bill of exchange was merely an official connivance
between Conti, the two trustees, and the treasurer of the
province to cover the irregularity of paying comedians
from the public treasury ; yet even this author admits
that "the affair is most obscure."

Of far more interest than this equivocal transaction,
are the difficulties Moliere's actors met in travelling!
during those happy-go-lucky days. When in the royal
service, they journeyed luxuriously at the public expense \
in carriages requisitioned by the Prince de Conti, and \
were even escorted by gendarmes; but the official
countenance once removed, they were often reduced to
a horse for each two actresses or three actors of the
company. Even when the means of transport was
a waggon and temporary opulence permitted an exchange

1 Les Points obscurs de la vie de Moliere. See also Le Molieriste,
August, 1885, article by Auguste Baluffe.

74 MOLIERE

from oxen to horses, the difficulty of locomotion seems
to have been only enhanced ; for among the more or less
truthful anecdotes gathered by M. Galibert (Emmanuel
Raymond) for his delightful story of Moliere's wander-
ings in Languedoc1 is one to the effect that while the
troupe was travelling from Pezenas to Beziers, the cart
came to a sudden halt and the driver announced that
it was impossible to go farther. When the comedians
protested that they were only half-way, the jehu replied
that a rush of blood had paralysed the right eye of his
colt, a young gelding thirty years old.

" And for that you mean to stop ? " continued the
actors. " Your other two horses will lead the colt."

" Impossible ! My other two horses are both blind,
and the colt which used to lead them was blind in one eye
before the accident." After this revelation there was
nothing to do but take foot to the journey's end.

To trace the route the company followed in that
summer land is hardly necessary, even were it always
possible. When not attending upon the States of Lan-
guedoc at Pezenas, Beziers, or Montpellier, or playing
at La Grange des Pres, they were travelling back and
forth among the neighbouring towns of Meze, Lunel,
Gignac,2 Marseillan, Agde, Nissan, or Montagnac. They
usually went to Lyons once a year, and made excursions
up and down the valley of the Rhone or eastward to

1 Histoire des peregrinations de Mo here dans le Languedoc.

3 Among the legends told by M. Galibert is one to this effect : The
town council having inscribed upon a public fountain of Gignac, Qu<z
fuit ante fugax, arte perennis erit, some admiring citizens of the place
asked Moliere one day the meaning of the words. He gave as his
translation :

Thou eager looker-on, who Mst know it all,
Here Gignac asses for their water call.

COMEDIANS OF PRINCE OF CONTI 75

Toulouse and Carcassonne, sometimes by waggon, some-
times in the saddle.

On the horseback journeys Moliere, as manager of the
company, had a nag to himself; and M. Galibert tells
another humorous legend about his saddle-bag contain-
ing the tragedy regalia, which the rustics often mistook
for jewels. One morning, too absorbed in day-dreaming
to note his property slipping from his horse's crupper,
the actor rode on, while two peasant girls made quick to
seize such untold wealth. Moliere discovered his loss,
however, before they had made off with their booty ; but
one of these imps, quick-witted enough to cover the bag
with her petticoats until his back was turned, sent it
tumbling into the ditch with a dexterous kick, and ran
to direct the fictitious search, while her comrade secured
the plunder.

In telling this story Moliere asked laughingly how it
could have turned out otherwise " when from Gignac you
go through Brignac only to turn your steps toward
Montagnac, while passing Lavagnac, and in the midst
of these gnic and these gnac, you hear without motive and
without cessation, Agaro Moussu ! Ah! boutats Moussu!
Aou sabetz pas Moussu! Pecalrt Moussu! until your
ears, eyes, and wits become so confused by these weird
sounds, accompanied by still stranger gestures, that you
end by losing what was only mislaid." In the course of
time, however, he became proficient in the soft language
of the South, and used it intelligently in Monsieur de
Pourceaugnac.

Mediaeval Pezenas was Moliere' s headquarters in Lan-
guedoc, his favourite resort the barber shop of Maitre
Gely. Seated in an armchair, known to this day as
le fauteuil de Moliere, he delighted to gossip with this

76 MOLlfiRE

Figaro's customers or improvise little comedies for his
own delectation.

One day a patron mistook him for the barber ; ever
ready to try his hand at a new role, Moliere smeared the
fellow's face with lather. Too merciful to cut an inno-
cent throat, he confined his tonsorial efforts to hair rais-
ing stories about supposed robberies, fires, murders, and
sudden deaths, until the victim, overcome with horror,
ran headlong from the shop, leaving a cravat as evidence
of the actor's success on the garrulous side of barbering.

On another occasion a country lass came to the shop
with a letter from her wounded betrothed at the wars for
Gely to read ; but he, being busy, directed her to Moliere
with the remark that " there is a gentleman who reads
far better than I ! " Contents were improvised to suit
the actor's fancy. To counteract the story that the
maiden's lover had distinguished himself for bravery,
but had lost an arm, he was obliged to invent a triumph
of surgical skill whereby the wounded soldier recovered
both his arm and his spirits. Upon learning that this
miraculous cure had caused such a commotion in the
neighbourhood that a rich lady insisted upon marrying her
hero, the poor girl might have ended her life with one of
Gely's razors, had Moliere not told her, as a final ano-
dyne, that her lover was true despite every allurement.
All might have gone well, had not the letter been shown
to some one who could read without embroidering. Even
then the girl refused to believe the truth and exclaimed,
in tribute to Moliere's skill in romancing, " There is a
gentleman at Gely's who knows how to read far better ! "

1 These various legends are taken as stated from M. Galibert's
Histoire des peregrinations de Moliere dans le Langtiedoc. The author,
who wrote under the nom de plume of Emmanuel Raymond, heard them

Moliere in the role of barber

[COMEDIANS OF PRINCE OF CONTI 77

Barber shops were the news centres in those days, the
gathering places for gossips. Moliere, sitting in his arm-
chair by Gely's window, noted many absurdities among
the patrons waiting their turn at the brass basin for
future use; but the States of Languedoc were quite as
rich a mine for character and local colour.

In the monarchical machine which dexterous Richelieu
had built from a feudal scrap-heap and crafty Mazarin
was oiling to perfection, the States (Les Etats), or provin-
cial parliaments, were political fly-wheels designed to go
round and round to aid in preserving without disturbing
the balance. Their functions being more imaginary than
real, their sessions became the rendezvous for provincial
society; hence Moliere, official entertainer to the States
of Languedoc, was brought in contact with the country
imitators of Parisian ways. During a session at Mont-
pellier in 1655, the ladies and gentlemen of the province,
assisted by professionals, presented a phantasy called
The Ballet of the Incompatible* before the newly wed
Princesse de Conti. Moliere appeared both as a poet
and a scolding fishwife ; and to avoid discussing his pos-
sible authorship of this mediocre ballet — a veritable
literary deformity after The Blunderer, were such the

told in his youth by J. F. Cailhava d'Estandoux, a Langucdocian drama-
tist who died in 1813 at the age of eighty-two. Throughout his life
Cailhava was an ardent admirer of Moliere ; yet he cannot be explicitly
trusted in the matter of accuracy. In his youth he made a trip through
Languedoc collecting stories of Moliere from the natives, and it was his
intention to publish a volume of Souvenirs de Languedoc. It is presumed
that he wrote portions of this book, but the manuscript has never been
discovered. M. Galibert writes the legends from memory, and, although
not authenticated, they are repeated because of their interest. Some of
them are told as well by M. Jules Taschereau in his Histoire de la vie et
des outrages de Moliere.

78 MOLIERE

case — it is sufficient to point out that, having met the
high society of Languedoc at such close range, he made
trenchant use of country ladies who imitate Parisian ways
some four years later in Les Precieuses ridicules.

Playing thus at a provincial court, touring a province,
supping with his literary friends, studying human nature
in Gely's shop, Moliere spent three happy years in
Languedoc in constant contact with the witchery of sex ;
yet notwithstanding a host of slanderers to vilify him, the
only women — besides Madeleine Bejart and his wife —
whose names have been linked with his are those of Miles.
du Pare and de Brie.1 Although a strolling player in a
wanton age, Moliere, judged by his contemporaries of
exalted rank, instead of being classed among the liber-
tines, should take his place among the more faithful
lovers of his day.

Necessity was ever his best taskmaster, so The Love
Tiff (Le Depit amoureux) is the only play to chronicle
for this period of contentment. This five-act comedy in
verse, wherein Moliere follows the Italian vein of The
Blunderer, contains two plots so distinct that each may
be presented separately. One, an adaptation of Nicolo
Secchi's Cupidity (L'lnteresse), concerns the fortunes of
Ascagne, a young girl, disguised as a boy in order that she
may inherit a fortune left by an uncle to a male heir ; the
other presents the quarrels of two pairs of lovers, Eraste
and his valet Gros-Rene, Lucile and her maid Marinette.
Mascarille again appears, but less prominently than in
The Blunderer ; and judged as a whole The Love Tiff is
inferior to its predecessor.

1 M. Galibert calls attention to a legend regarding an intrigue between
Moliere and the Chatelaine de Lavagnac, but its fabric of truth is too
slight to merit serious consideration.

COMEDIANS OF PRINCE OF CONTI 79

Although the longer and more completely Italian in
treatment and origin, the first of these two distinct plots
is by far the less interesting. Nicolb Secchi's vulgarity,
much to Moliere's credit, has been so toned down that,
compared with the original, this story of a girl in man's
attire becomes a gem of refinement ; but the play's chief
interest lies in the poet's treatment of the other plot
which gives it name. He has been accused of having
taken his story of a lover's quarrels from both Italian
and Spanish sources, but he is no ordinary pirate. His
lovers are painted with a fine Gallic touch, and he tells
the story of their passion with such truth and gaiety that
The Love Tiffl although sadly lacking in clearness, is
perhaps the only French play founded on an Italian
imbroglio which retains its freshness and youth. Italian
tradition is partially discarded, and the master of French
comedy revealed for the first time. For this reason
The Love Tiff is a landmark in the development of
Moliere's genius.

It was produced at Beziers during the session of the
States in 1656, and marks a change in Moliere's fortunes
as well as in his craftsmanship. Grimarest tells a some-
what apocryphal story to the effect that when the poet
Sarrasin died in December, 1654, Moliere, then in favour
with the Prince de Conti, was offered the post of royal
secretary, which he declined through love for his chosen
calling. Whatever the truth of this, there is no doubt
that Moliere lost his patron's favour shortly after the pro-
duction__of fhe Love Tiff, — an event for which neitEer
the play nor his^own^cdnduct was in any way responsible.

Armand de Bourbon blew hot or cold according
to environment. Opera bouffe hero of the Fronde,
tool of Mazarin, and profligate protector of Mme. de

8o MOLIERE

Calvimont, he now became a zealous convert of the
Jansenists, — the Puritans of the time. This change of
heart was compassed by the Bishop of Aleth ; and when
the States of Languedoc adjourned on February twenty-
second, 1656, the Prince accepted with a child's docility
the rules of conduct of the austere order, and banished
comedy, dancing, and gaming from his court. So great
was his zeal in the new cause that he wrote from Lyons to
the Abbe Ciron in the spring of 1657 to say that "there
are comedians here who formerly bore my name. I have
forbidden them to use it longer, and you may be sure I
have taken good care not to attend their performances."

Once more without a patron, Moliere was forced to
wander for two years through a country he had often
visited. Narbonne, Beziers, Nimes, Lyons, Dijon, and
Avignon are places where some trace of him remains ;
while at Grenoble, early in 1658, he is supposed to have
set up his trestles without a license, being consequently
forced to remove his play-bills, close his theatre, and
humbly beg permission from the offended authorities
at the Hotel de Ville to present his comedies. As Conti
retained only " missionaries and policemen " in his suite,
Languedoc was no longer a desirable circuit for a com-
pany of players ; so Moliere turned his steps toward
Normandy in the spring of 1658, to be within easy
reach of Paris and the court.

The company he brought to Rouen in that month of
May was a very different organisation from the band
of unknown amateurs he had led thither fifteen years
before. It was now a compact, well balanced, and ac-
complished troupe of eleven players ; which, to quote
the words of Segrais, " was moulded by the hand of the
man who was its soul, — a company which could never

COMEDIANS OF PRINCE OF CONTI 81

>
have its equal." Besides Moliere and the Bejart family,

the members were Du Pare, Dufresne, De Brie, Croisac,
— this last a gagiste, or hired actor having no share in
the profits, — and the ladies Catherine de Brie and Mar-
quise du Pare, each a player of ability, and their chief —
a master of stage craft.

Their repertory was not confined to the plays of their
manager. Indeed these were but secondary to the
tragedies of Rotrou and Corneille, and, with the excep-
tion of The Blunderer and The Love I'iffl were merely
used as afterpieces. Moliere was not yet sufficiently
self-confident to set his own work in the foremost place.
Even as an actor he felt his limitations.

Nature had refused him the external gifts so necessary
on the stage, above all for tragic parts. He had a
monotonous voice, hard in inflection, and he spoke
with a volubility which made his declamation hurried.
He was only able to correct himself of this fault, so
contrary to good articulation, by constant effort, through
which was produced a sort of hiccough, lasting to his
death. He sometimes took advantage of this fault and
used it to give a certain variety to his inflection ; but
it caused him to be accused of an affectation which in
time came to be accepted as natural.

This passage is attributed to Mile. Poisson, a woman
whose mother, Mile, du Croisy, entered Moliere's com-
pany in 1659, and who herself played a part in one or
two of his pieces a year before his death. It was not
published until 1740, but the author, both from obser-
vation and the stories doubtless told her in her youth,
was in a position to appreciate and understand the
histrionic difficulties under which Moliere laboured.1

1 Lettre sur la vie et les outrages de Moliere et sur les com'ediens de son
temps, published in the Mercure de France, May, 1740. The author-

82 MOLIERE

As director of his troupe, he possessed the cunning of
the modern manager. Knowing his public, he gave it
pieces suitable to its taste, and only in rare moments,
when he dared offer the general a morsel of caviare, did
he write to please his own fancy. No detail was too
trivial for him to master, and as poet and dramatist
he called forth an amount of erudition that would be
astonishing in any age. Although he did not hesitate
to pluck from Menander, Plautus, Terence, and the
dramatists of Italy and Spain, or even to cull material
from Montaigne, Brantome, Noel du Fail, and Rabelais,
as well as from the story tellers of his own time, he was
nevertheless a student and a deep thinker, — an artist,
who painted real men and women in the vigorous colours
of truth.

Such was the strolling player who, after an experience
of fifteen years in his craft, returned to Rouen, the scene
of his first essay in the art of acting. Feeling the time
ripe to brave the criticism of the capital, he spent the
summer there trying to obtain a hearing at the court.
He had made friends among the authorities in many
places, and he knew Pierre Mignard, a painter then in
high favour with Mazarin. The great Corneille lived at
Rouen, too, and his first play had been produced by
just such a travelling troupe ; so he may have had a
fellow feeling for Moliere, the more so because in this
actor's repertory were many of Corneille's own tragedies.
But there is a more human reason for his interest in this
strolling company. The Italian beauty, Marquise Therese
du Pare, so bewitched the great man with her irresistible

ship of this article, although attributed to Mile. Poisson (nee Du Croisy),
is far from being authenticated. See Lettres au Mercure sur Moliere
(Nouvelle collection molieresque) by M. Georges Monval.

COMEDIANS OF PRINCE OF CONTI 83

wiles during that summer at Rouen that he indited
verses to her, such as this :

Dear Marquise, should my face
Bear marks of life's long race,
Remember, at my age,1
You *d scarcely more engage, etc.

Corneille's mediocre brother, too, was led a captive at
the lady's chariot wheel and added his small mite of
verse to her garland ; so doubtless Moliere and his
company were benefited by this double triumph of their
fair comrade.

The name of the courtier who hinted to Monsieur,
the brother of the King, that it was befitting his station
to have a company of players in his suite, and suggested
the late comedians of the Prince de Conti as worthy of
his patronage, has never been divined ; but Moliere used
every influence he could command in bringing this event
to pass, spending the summer of 1658 in journeying
back and forth to Paris, until at last the royal summons
came. In October of that eventful year the actresses
and actors of his troupe packed their tawdry costumes
for the last tramp on the road. No more jolting ox
carts or weary footing, no more brutal soldiers of the
Fronde to terrorise these humble Thespians : for Paris,
bright beneath an azure sky, stood smiling at their
journey's end.

1 Corneille was then fifty-two.

84 MOLIERE

PARISIAN SUCCESS

To assure the company a Paris theatre, should Moliere's
schemes for a hearing at court miscarry, Madeleine Bejart,
as its business manager, began negotiations for a lease of
the Theatre du Marais. The royal summons put an end
to this transaction ; yet it is noteworthy, because, in sign-
ing a document at Rouen in connection therewith, she
gave her address in Paris as the house of " Monsieur
Poquelin, tapissier valet de chambre du Roiy living in the
arcade of the market-place in the parish of St. Eustache."

This was the house Moliere's father purchased in Sep-
tember, 1633, and if the actress who had led his son from
the paths of duty was his guest, his welcome to the prod-
igal was complete, to the slaying of the fatted calf. Even
an upholsterer by special appointment might pardon a
first-born who had written two successful plays ; but
financial reasons were, perhaps, more potent than pride
in inspiring this paternal welcome. Including the sums
advanced to absolve his debts, Moliere had received only
a portion of the money due from his mother's estate.
Possibly the elder Poquelin found it easier to forgive
than to account.

Of far more importance than Moliere's welcome be-
neath the paternal roof was his first appearance at court.
Monsieur, a close-fisted young reprobate of eighteen,
wished a company of actors to vie with his brother's
troupe of the Hotel de Bourgogne, and to gratify this
whim, the late comedians of the Prince de Conti were

PARISIAN SUCCESS 85

commanded for a trial performance. Moliere' s intrigues
had at last borne fruit, but he had reached the age of
thirty-six ; failure to please meant that he must return to
the barns and high-roads of provincial France.

October twenty-fourth, i6{8? is a momentous day in
the life of this strolling player. To give him audience,
ladies with coifs and point lace collars, courtiers in perukes
and silken doublets, gathered before a temporary stage in
the guard room of the old Louvre ; King Louis, too,
was there ; Monsieur, the profligate ; portly Anne of
Austria, and Mazarin, triumphant ; — possibly brave
D'Artagnan stood guard that night. Behind the royal
family and the pleasure loving dames tfhonneur were flip-
pant gentlemen prepared to yawn ; actors of the Hotel
de Bourgogne, to scoff. Amid the glow of candles and
the odour of frangipane, Moliere made his bow to Paris
and the world.

His play was Corneille's tragedy of Nicomedes ; scorn,
the verdict of his rivals. With an inspiration equal to
his genius, he stepped before the curtain at the conclusion
of the Corneille tragedy, and thanked the King for hav-
ing pardoned the defects of a company which had appeared
with hesitation before so august an assemblage. "The
desire," he continued, "of having the honour of amusing
the greatest monarch in the world had made them forget
that his Majesty already had in his service an excellent
troupe, of which they were only modest imitators. Since
the audience had already endured their awkward country
manners, he humbly begged permission to give one of the
trifling entertainments which had amused the provinces."

The heart of a king then scarcely past his teens
was touched by this artful flattery ; therefore Moliere,
having made his debut in the role of courtier,, placed

86 MOLIERE

upon the boards The Physician in Love (Le Docteur
amour eux}, a farce of his own devising. The manuscript
of that " trifling entertainment " is lost, but the King's
laughter echoes through the centuries. By his decree
those " modest imitators " of the royal players became
\//> "The Troupe of Monsieur. Only Brother of the King."
and the libertine, thus honoured, granted each a pension
of three hundred livres. As at La Grange des Pres,
Moliere's success was, in some measure, due to feminine
charms: the Preface of 1682, in speaking of this memo-
rable performance at the Louvre, says that while " the
new players did not displease, the charms and the acting
of the actresses were, above all, most satisfactory."

Monsieur's pension was a shadowy boon, for with true
Orleanist parsimony it was never paid ; not so the King's
permission to use the Hotel du Petit Bourbon on the
days unoccupied by Scaramouche and his Italian buffoons.
A Paris theatre being Moliere's quest, no time was lost
in agreeing with the transalpine players that for fifteen
hundred livres his company should have the right to play
Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

According to tradition, as has been seen, Moliere,
when a lad, took lessons in acting from this same Scara-
mouche ; but in view of the limited time at a French
schoolboy's disposal, their mutual tenancy of the Petit
Bourbon seems a more likely occasion for this histrionic
instruction. That Moliere became the pupil of Tiberio
Fiurelli, whose stage name, Scaramouche, is a household
word,1 is attested by a quatrain printed beneath a portrait-
engraving by Vermeulen of this great buffoon :

1 " Scaramouche " (Italian scaramuccio) was a buffoon part in the ol<
Italian farces. Tiberio Fiurelli was known as Scaramouche because
habitually played this part dressed in black from head to foot.

PARISIAN SUCCESS

This actor of illustrious tone
Acquired his art's most pleasing feature :
Though he was Moliere's patient teacher,

Dame Nature was herself his own.

The evidence of Le Boulanger de Chalussay, too, is not
to be despised, since, by exaggerating fact, he made slan-
der poignant. In his Elomire the Hypochondriac he
says:

For instance, Elomire,
Fully bent on being any actor's peer,
In a manner wily, laid a cunning plan :
Scaramouche to mimic, justly famous man ;
So with mirror went he, every morn and eve,
Face to see reflected, technic to achieve ;
For this noted pupil, grimace and wry traits
Imitated neatly in a hundred ways.

Within a week after the performance of The Physi-
cian in Love before the King, MoHere^s companj^niade
its^ debut at the Hotel du Petit Bourbon. Situated on
the right bank of the Seine, between the old Louvre and
the church of St. Germain TAuxerrois, this theatre had
been the palace of the Constable de Bourbon. Confis-
cated to the State upon his condemnation for high treason,
the family arms had been effaced wherever found, and
the door daubed with the yellow paint used to mark the
houses of criminals convicted of lese majeste ; but in spite
of such disfigurement, it was, according to Sauval, the
" widest, highest, and longest theatre in the kingdom," 1
- a eulogy borne out by a pamphleteer of the period,
who asserts that it was " eighteen fathoms long by eight
wide, ending in a circular apse seven fathoms deep and
eight and a half in width." Vaulted, and covered with

1 Histoire et recbercbes des antiquites de la ville de Paris,

88 MOLIERE

fleurs-de-lis, this spacious auditorium was otherwise in the
Doric style, while opposite the dais of the King stood a
stage six feet high by forty-eight square, — an imposing
play-house, it would seem, for that or any period.

Monsieur's comedians appeared at the Petit Bourbon
November second, 1658. Grimarest maintains that The
Blunderer was the first piece presented ; but Boulanger
de Chalussay names five tragedies by Corneille, which
were hissed, before Moliere resorted to his own plays.
The persistence with which he worshipped Melpomene
inclines one to belief in the latter contention. In the
words of M. Louis Moland,1 " failure on the one hand,
applause on the other, forced Moliere to surrender to his
own genius. How many attempts were necessary to un-
deceive him, by what a roundabout way, by what drastic
coercion, the author of The Misanthrope became almost
in spite of himself the greatest of comic poets ! "

When the dust was finally shaken from The Blun-
derer, the piece which had set Lyons laughing turned the
hisses of the Parisians to applause ; when The Love Tiff
followed " its elder brother," even Boulanger de Chalus-
say, the slanderer, exclaimed, " C'est la faire et jouer des
pieces comme il faut ! " Seventy pistoles, according to La
Grange, was each actor's share of The Blunderer s receipts,
und The Love TV^*was equally profitable.

The court, absent from Paris since the memorable
performance at the Louvre, returned on January twenty-
eighth, 1659, and a fortnight later Monsieur honoured
his comedians with a visit to the Petit Bourbon, when
Moliere, ever the courtier, made a speech in compliment
to his royal patron.

With the advent of Lent the dramatic season ended.
1 Vie de J.-B. P. Moliere.

PARISIAN SUCCESS 89

During the Easter holidays Gros-Rene and his pretty

wife, Mile, du Pare, inspired no doubt by some trivial

theatrical huff, deserted to the Theatre du Marais, the

i veteran Dufresne retired from the stage, and the gagiste

I Croisac was discharged. To repair his depleted ranks,

I Moliere engaged two actors of the Theatre du Marais,

j Jodelet and his brother De 1'Espy, together with three

players new to Paris : Charles Varlet, Du Croisy, and

! his wife, Marie Claveau.

\ Jodelet, an experienced comedian, known in real life as
Julien Bedeau, was a lean/#nw£, or buffoon, who whit-
ened his face with flour, and had but to show himself
upon the stage to provoke laughter. He died within a
year, so that his association with the company was short-
lived ; but Charles Varlet remained a member until after
Moliere's death. Indeed, this latter actor, more usually
known by his stage name of Sieur de la Grange (his
matronymic, with an assumed nobiliary particle), was the
compiler of the famous register of the troupe's receipts
and disbursements, still preserved in the archives of the
Theatre Fran^ais. Robbed of his inheritance by an ab-
sconding guardian, La Grange drifted to the stage and,
meeting Moliere in Paris, was engaged for subordinate
parts at the Petit Bourbon and, upon the death of Joseph
Bejart, promoted to be jeune premier. Later he became
orateur of the troupe, and besides compiling his register,
edited the first complete edition of Moliere's works (1682),
in conjunction with his friend Vinot. In 1672 La Grange
married Marie (or Marotte) Ragueneau, the pastry-cook-
poet's daughter, who, serving first as Mile, de Erie's
maid, became a ticket collector for the company, then a
character actress.

Philibert Gassot, a gentleman of Beauce, best known

9o MOLlfiRE

by the pseudonym of Sieur du Croisy, had been head of
a strolling company. Even his obesity could not destroy
his graceful bearing on the stage, and he was reckoned
one of Moliere's best comedians. At the time of his
advent at the Hotel du Petit Bourbon, he was married
to Marie Claveau, an indifferent actress engaged because
of her husband's talent ; while the same might be said
of Jodelet's brother, Sieur de 1'Espy, who failed except
in parts written to suit his eccentricities.

With his company thus enlarged, MoHere opened the
theatrical season of 1659 by playing The Love Tiff at
the chateau de Chilly- Mazarin before the Marechal de
la Meilleraye's august guest, the King. This comedy in
verse gave the young monarch a better opportunity of
judging its author's merits than the farce he had witnessed
in the guard room of the Louvre, and his discernment
proved keener than that of his courtiers. Even Jean
Loret, the society journalist of the day, considered the
comedy played at Chilly of no more importance than the
violins provided for his Majesty's diversion, but Louis
was so edified that on May tenth The Blunderer was
played before him at the Louvre.1

During this command performance Joseph Bejart, the
company's jeune premier, if the term be not a misnomer

1 What more remains to say —
The violins ? the play ?

Muse bistoriquf, April 19, 1659.

La Muse bistorique, a weekly pamphlet in which current events in
politics, literature, the drama, and society were treated wittily in verse by
its editor, Jean Loret, constituted the press of the period, together with its
senior, La Gazette de Francey established in 1631 by Theophraste
Renoudot. Le Mercure galant, founded by Donneau de Vize, which,
later, became Le Mercure de France, filled the role of monthly magazine.

PARISIAN SUCCESS 91

for a man fifty-one years old, was taken ill while playing
his accustomed part of Lelie, and died a few days later.
His sister's companion in her early wanderings, the poet's
comrade since the days of "The Illustrious Theatre,"
his loss must have been keenly felt, for his colleagues
closed their play-house during a fortnight. Owing to a
habit of stuttering, Joseph Bejart was an indifferent actor,
but he had the commercial spirit strongly developed.
In 1656, for a genealogy of the provincial nobility
of Languedoc he had written, he was rewarded by that
province with a grant of fifteen hundred livres ; but a
paltry five hundred was made to requite a supple-
ment, and Bejart was dismissed with an admonition to
indulge in no more such literary cupidity. Unabashed,
however, by this rebuff, he continued grubbing money
in divers ways, until he had amassed an estate valued
at twenty-four thousand £cusy a colossal fortune for a
comedian.

In July, 1659, owing to the departure of his Italian
competitors for Italy, Moliere was left in sole possession
or^fhe FTotel du Petit Bourbon. This enabled him to
give performances on Sunday, Tuesday, and Friday, the
so-called regular theatrical days. Plays were presented
in the afternoon, hence, Monday being post day for
Germany and Italy, Wednesday and Saturday market
days, and Thursday the time of the fashionable prome-
nade, the advantage of the regular days is apparent
However, this good fortune was almost counterbalanced
by the departure of the court from Paris.

France had been at war with Spain for some twenty
years, and Mazarin, in negotiating peace, had in view a
marriage between his sovereign and the Infanta Maria
Theresa ; but the ministers of Philip IV were so dilatory

92 MOLlfiRE

that the artful cardinal set off for Lyons with the King
to meet the Princess Margaret of Savoy, a possible
candidate for the throne. The ruse succeeded ; the
Spaniards hastening to resume negotiations with the
result that Maria Theresa was affianced to Louis XIV
on November seventh, 1659.

The successful runs of The Blunderer and The Love
Tiff terminated while these negotiations for the royal
marriage were still in progress. The court being absent,
Moliere's audiences were considerably diminished ; so,
obliged to seek a novelty for autumn production, his
last recourse was to his own muse. The result of this
forced labour was an epoch-making play, Les Precieuses
ridicules.

When this satirical comedy was produced at the Hotel
du Petit Bourbon, November eighteenth, 1659, all Paris
laughed except the precieuses, or fashionable blue-stock-
ings, who saw themselves portrayed. The story of this
play will be left to the ensuing chapter, but it may be
said in passing that the influence of the ladies, thus
antagonised, was sufficient to interdict its performances
for a time. The enthusiasm of the public had been too
great, however, for such a ban to be effective, and in
response to popular clamour Les Precieuses ridicules was
again presented on December second. Its success was
so pronounced that the price of tickets was doubled,
while people came to Paris from twenty leagues around
to be amused by a comedy called, by a contemporary,
" the most charming and delicate which had ever
appeared upon the stage." From December second,
1659, until the Easter closing of the theatre, La Grange
records thirty- two performances of this piece, not counting
the representations given at fashionable houses in Lent.

PARISIAN SUCCESS

During the Easter holidays death removed lean Jo-
delet, the faring from the company, but his loss was
not irreparable. Gros-Rene, together with his fascinating
wife, returned to the fold of the Petit Bourbon, and,
according to Loret, this fat comedian " was worth three
Jodelets."

While Les Precieuses ridicules was arousing the anger
of the blue-stockings, the King was in the Pyrenees,
and before he could reach his capital to join in the
laughter at their expense, Moliere had produced Sgana-
relle ; or, The Imaginary Cockold (Sganarelle ou le Cocu
imaginaire], a one-act farce in verse, with sufficient
mirth to fill the Petit Bourbon thirty-four times during
the dull season and command various engagements at
country houses. The merits of this piece will be dis-
cussed in a future chapter ; but a word from an eye-
witness upon Moliere's acting in the title role :

Nothing more delightful had ever been seen upon the
stage than Sganarelle's attitudes behind his wife's back,
while his face and gestures expressed jealousy so thor-
oughly that speech was not needed to make him appear
the most outraged of husbands.

Sighing for " the brush of a Poussin, a Le Brun, or a
Mignard, to picture these drolleries," the admirer who
thus expressed himself, Neufvillenaine by name, stood
in the parterre until he had learned the play by heart,
then rushed to a printing-office and gave it to the world.
Not only did this freebooter publish Sganarelle from
memory, but enjoined the author himself from printing
it for five years. Rather than submit to such high
handed robbery, Moliere seized the pirated copies in
the bookstalls, and sued the offender ; whereupon Neuf-

94 MOLIERE

villenaine published a new edition of Sganarelle, with a
dedicatory letter to the author containing the ingenuous
defence that " no harm had been done him, since his
piece had been played nearly fifty times."

The Blunderer and The Love Tiff had not been con-
sidered worthy of publication, and even Les Precieuses
ridicules was printed more through a desire to present a
defensive preface to the public than to protect the author's
rights. His experience with Monsieur Neufvillenaine
taught Moliere a salutary lesson, however, and thereafter
his work was given to the public before it could be stolen.
All thanks to this literary pirate ! 1

On the seventh of June, 1660, King Louis met the
Infanta Maria Theresa at the frontier ; then journeying
toward Paris, tarried through July and August at Vin-
cennes. Here Moliere appeared three times, playing
both Les Precieuses ridicules and Sganarelle with such
marked success that, after the King had entered Paris in
triumph with his Spanish bride, the poet was thrice sum-
moned to the Louvre. This royal advertising was a
somewhat empty boon just then, for the public was too
engrossed with processions and fireworks to attend the-
atrical performances.

Indeed what comedy could compete with the spectacle
of a royal wedding? Maria Theresa was displayed to the
populace in a gilded car ; young Louis, clothed in gold
and silver embroidery, rode at the head of his nobility
amid huzzas and acclamations. It was his first real hour
of kingship and, while he tasted splendour to the full,
Fran9oise d'Aubigne looked upon his handsome face and

1 A reason for Moliere' s hesitancy regarding the publication of his
plays is found in the curious law of the period, which made a published
play public property for acting purposes.

PARISIAN SUCCESS 95

envied Mazarin — until that day his ruler. This won-
drous lady's hour of liberation was at hand. Within
the month Scarron, her lord and master, drew his last
will and testament in verse, then died. Having nothing
to bequeath but jokes, he left his wife the privilege of
remarrying ; to Loret he bequeathed a pipe of wine ;
five hundred pounds of gravity for the two Corneilles,
and to his other literary friends the qualities and ab-
surdities they possessed already. Then, remember-
ing one who had just carried theatrical Paris by storm,
he left "To Moliere, cuckoldom," — a legacy indeed
prophetic!

Moliere had need of a bequest less cynical. During
the royal wedding festivities the receipts of his theatre
had diminished wofully, and at the time of Scarron's
death he was in a plight far more serious than playing
in opposition to processions, tournaments, and fireworks.
Being without fame heretofore, he had been without
enemies ; but when Les Precieuses ridicules set all Paris
laughing at the expense of high society, he sowed
dragons' teeth. Now, when his fortunes seemed wan-
ing, foes sprang full armed to his attack.

On October eleventh Monsieur de Ratabon, superin-
tendent of the royal buildings, began to destroy the
Hotel du Petit Bourbon without warning to its occu-
pants. Dumfounded by this unforeseen attack, Moliere
complained to the King ; whereupon the official justified
his action by stating that the building stood in the way of
proposed improvements to the Louvre, while the stage
fixtures, having been built for the royal ballets, belonged
to his Majesty. As La Grange ingenuously remarks,
" the evil intention of Monsieur de Ratabon was appar-
ent," and doubtless powerful social leaders, resenting

96 MOLIERE

Les Precieuses ridicules, inspired this covert attack upon
its author. The King bore no such enmity, and when
his brother asked for the theatre in the Palais Royal to
indemnify his comedians for the wrong done them, his
Majesty granted the request, and ordered the offending
Ratabon to make the necessary repairs.

Built in 1639 ^7 Richelieu to gratify his passion for
the stage, this theatre had fallen into such a state of ruin
since the Palais Cardinal had become the Palais Royal,
that three beams had rotted and half the auditorium was
unroofed ; but being the property of the King, Moliere
could not be molested there except by royal command.
Occupying the right wing of the palace, it had its en-
trance in the rue St. Honore near where the Theatre
Fransais now stands, and was, according to Sauval, " the
most comfortable theatre ever known." This authority
maintains that it held four thousand spectators, but in
Moliere's day its seating capacity must have been greatly
reduced. Karl Mantzius thus transcribes the contem-
porary descriptions of the auditorium :

The hall was a long parallelogram, with the stage at
one end ; the floor ascended gradually in the opposite
direction by means of twenty-seven low, broad stone
steps, on which stood wooden seats. The steps did not
curve, but crossed the whole breadth of the hall in a
straight line, and ran up to a kind of portico at the back
of the hall formed of three large arcades. Along each
side two gilded balconies ran from the portico to within
a short distance of the proscenium. The actual stage
did not occupy the whole breadth of the hall, but formed
a kind of large, flat arch supported by two pillars of
masonry, which on the sides facing the audience were
decorated with Ionian pilasters, while the sides that faced
each other contained each two niches with allegorical

PARISIAN SUCCESS 97

statues. From the stage six steps led down to the seats
on the floor, and at the top, in the middle of the arch,
was Richelieu's coat-of-arms.1

Although, to hasten the repairs, Moliere asked permis-
sion to remove the boxes and stage appliances from the
Hotel du Petit Bourbon to his new theatre, the King's
machinist kept the latter under the pretext that they
would be useful at the Tuileries, then promptly burnt
them. Court officials and ladies of quality were not
alone in their hostility ; Moliere's rivals at the Hotel de
Bourgogne, seeing the stage of the Petit Bourbon taken
from under his feet, tried to spread sedition in his com-
pany by offering more lucrative positions to its members,
but they did not know their man. Witness this tribute
of La Grange :

All the actors loved their chief, Le Sieur de Moliere,
who, besides being worthy and extraordinarily capable,
was so honest and had such engaging manners that they
felt obliged, one and all, to protest their loyalty, and
vow they would follow his fortunes, no matter what
inducements or advantages might be found elsewhere.

These words, written by a comrade at a moment
when Moliere's fortunes were ebbing, paint his character
in unmistakable colours. " All the actors loved their
chief" — no modern eulogy is needed.

During the three months while Moliere was without
a play-house, his troupe appeared occasionally in private
houses and at the Louvre. These performances brought
five thousand one hundred and fifteen livres, but the

1 Moliere and bis Times : The Theatre in France in the Seventeenth
Century, Vol. IV, History of Theatrical Art.

98 MOLIERE

major portion being expended on the new theatre, the
comedians were on short commons. The company was
a mutual benefit association, in which each member
received one share of the net receipts. The only diver-
gence from this rule was the allotment of an extra share
to Moliere at the time of his marriage in 1661, and
another in 1663, in recognition of his rights as author, —
a modest compensation, indeed, for one who filled the
triple role of play writer, manager, and star. An annual
pension of one thousand livres was paid a retiring actor
by his successor, and, in case of death, a like sum was
given the nearest kinsman ; hence membership in the
company included both a disability pension and a life
insurance.

After each performance the chambreey or money re-
ceived, was counted, and, when expenses had been
deducted, divided among the players. The receipts
fluctuated greatly. Often falling below one hundred
livres, they dwindled, on March ninth, 1660, to the
mere pittance of forty; yet on March fifth, 1669,
at the first public production of The Hypocrite, they
reached the phenomenal sum of two thousand eight
hundred and sixty livres, and frequently passed the
thousand mark.1 As the charge for admission depended
much upon the success of a piece, it is difficult to
present an accurate scale of prices. The various parts of
the house were known as stage seats, lower tier boxes,
amphitheatre, upper boxes, third tier boxes, and par-
terre. The first three of these divisions were the most
desirable, and the price of seats therein, the same.
Three livres was the ordinary charge, but when a suc-
cessful piece held the boards, the demi-Iouis (Tor — or
1 Registre de la Grange.

PARISIAN SUCCESS 99

five livres ten sous — was demanded in the fashionable
portions of the house. For the parterre, or pit, fifteen
sous was the normal charge ; but when the prices were
doubled, as on the occasion of the second representation
of Les Precieuses ridicules, thirty sous was asked for the
privilege of standing amid the hoi polloi*

The King's musketeers were " dead heads," the stage
seats of the dandy nobles seldom paid for, and Mon-
sieur's subvention a will-o'-the-wisp ; so Moliere's most
reliable source of revenue was the patronage of the bour-
geoisie. Although his rivals at the Hotel de Bourgogne
drew annually from the royal treasury a pension of
twelve thousand livres, and the Italians drew fifteen
thousand, Moliere, during the first eight years of his
sojourn in Paris, had no such good fortune. Still the
lot of a comedian in his company was not to be despised,
for La Grange, from the time he became a member until
the poet's death — a period of fourteen years — received
the sum of fifty-one thousand six hundred and seventy
livres as his share of the receipts, an amount a modern
actor might envy.

Although his name was not yet on the royal pension
list, Moliere possessed his King's regard — a far more
valuable asset. He had called him " the greatest mon-
arch in the world," and when the young man of twenty
thus flattered was amused as well, Moliere's fortune was
assured. In that complaisant age the King's favour was
essential to any man whose livelihood depended on the
public. To Moliere it meant far more, for it gave him
the courage to paint society in the unerring colours of
truth, and when his company was homeless, financial
support as well : for example, between October eleventh,
1 Le Theatre fran$ais sous Louis XIPby Eugene Despois.

ioo MOLlfiRE

1660, and January twentieth of the following year — the
period when he was without a theatre — his company
played at court six times, while the troupe of the Hotel
de Bourgogne appeared but once.

One of these command performances is of more than
passing interest. On October twenty-sixth, 1660, Mo-
liere's troupe went to the Louvre to present The Blunderer
and Les Precieuses ridicules. " Monsieur le Cardinal
Mazarin was ill," says La Grange, " and his Majesty
saw the comedy while resting on the back of his Emi-
nence's chair " ; in a word, a young king on the thresh-
old of his power, his dying master, and his hired player,
— the greatest despot, the greatest knave, and the greatest
genius of France.

LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES

101

VII

LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES

UNTIL the eventful afternoon when Les Precieuses ridi-
cules was produced at the Hotel du Petit Bourbon, the
term precieuse had meant a woman of cultivation truly
precious. It became thenceforth an obloquy. To ap-
preciate how vulnerable to satire were the ladies who had
gloried in that title, their story must be told.

During the religious wars the manners of society had
been those of the camp. At their close Catherine de
Vivonne, Marquise de Rambouillet, a social leader of
unequalled talent, re-createcl French refinement; yet so
far reaching has been the effect of Moliere's comedy
that she is often classed with her copyists as a precieuse
ridicule. Besides being ambitious and tactful, this re-
markable woman was actively virtuous, — a merit which
led her to head a reaction against the coarseness of con-
temporary court life, and revive a taste for true culture j
among the idle born.

Rebuilding her hfael in the rue St. Thomas du
Louvre1 with this end in view, she discarded the cus-
tomary central stairway, and substituted for the single
vast and dreary salon of the period a series of ante-
chambers and cabinets. In her drawing-room the con-

1 Situated on the site now occupied by the Grands Magazins du
Louvre.

102 MOLIERE

ventional shades of red and tan colour were rejected,
and the blue velvet furnishings installed which gave it
the name of the Blue Room, le salon bleu. When its
doors were thrown open to the wit and beauty of Paris,
French verse rose from the mire of tavern song to the
dignity of poetry. Richelieu's condescension had made
the writer's lot intolerable ; but Madame de Rarnbouillet
received the humblest author on a plane of equality with
the grandest seigneur.

During its career of more than forty years (1617—65),
the Hotel de Rarnbouillet passed through three well
defined phases. In the period of formation its famous
coterie was animated by youthful enthusiasm. Mme.
de Rarnbouillet was in the charming thirties ; Julie, her
eldest daughter, and Madeleine de Scudery were just
budding into womanhood ; Vaugelas, Racan, Jean Louis
de Balzac, Chapelain, and Voiture ranged in age from
thirty-five to twenty-two. Imperious Malherbe alone
was old and crusty ; yet even he unbent so far as to
contrive the poetic anagram of Arthenice from the Chris-
tian name of his hostess.

The assumption of fantastic noms de Parnasse was a
feature of preciosity, so credit for inventing that cult
might be given Malherbe; but in those earlier days
affectation played small part at the Hotel de Rarnbouillet.
To quote Chapelain, " In no other place in the world
was there more good sense and less pedantry." Conver-
sation was cultivated as a fine art, and literature discussed
with such intelligence that authors stood in honest dread
of the Blue Room coterie's verdict. Moreover, new
words were introduced into the language^ superfluous
letters suppressed, obscure points argued, and terms
de-fined which were soon to find a place in the dictionary

LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES 103

of the French Academy;1 in short, through one charm-
ing woman's tact, the poet and the scholar replaced the
swashbuckler as a social influence.

Restraining Malherbe died in 1628, whereupon Eru-
dition, that just god, was deposed by Verbiage. Sarrasin,
Conrart, Patru, Godeau, Menage, Benserade, and Segrais
became the acolytes of High Priest Voiture, arbiter of
elegance ; Mile, de Coligny and Mile, de Scudery, the
Princesse de Guemene, the Marquise de Sable, and the
Comtesse de Maure were among his devotees ; even
the great Conde, Saint-Evremond, and La Rochefoucauld
bent the knee. Garlands of verses were entwined in
daughter Julie's honour; young Bossuet preached ex-
perimental sermons in the Blue Room ; Corneille read
tragedies ; but, alas, circumlocution dominated the ritual I
of its culture worship. Still, Voiture' s sonnets and '
roundelays were charming poetry, his al fresco fetes
distinguished for good taste: not until his death did
preciosity become ridiculous.

The third phase is the period of decline. In 1645
Julie d'Angennes, Madame de Rambouillet's eldest
daughter, married a persistent nobleman,2 whose austerity
chilled the Blue Room atmosphere ; and Voiture died
three years later. Then the Fronde divided society
into bitter factions, and family deaths closed the doors
of the Hotel de Rambouillet for a time ; the subse-
quent illness of its hostess, too, although accountable for

1 The French Academy was founded officially by Richelieu in 1635.
Many of its members, however, had been meeting for some years previous
at the house of Conrart, an habitue of the Hotel de Rambouillet. One
of its first labours was the compilation of an authoritative dictionary of the
French language.

2 The Marquis de Montausier, created Due de Montausier in 1664.

io4 MOLlfiRE

the quaint custom of receiving guests at the ruelle, or
bedside, restricted its coterie to her intimate friends.
After the wars of the Fronde the Blue Room was re-
opened, but Madame de Rambouillet was verging on
/seventy. Claimants for her social throne appeared — to
emulate but not to equal her in brilliancy — and in the
L salons of these rivals the preciosity that Moliere satirised
\was born, — a base imitation of the Blue Room culture.

Among these competitors was Madeleine de Scudery,
whose novel, Artamtne ou le Grand Cyrus (1649-53),
appeared about the time the mysterious word precieuse
was first whispered from lip to lip. This interminable
story portrayed the Blue Room familiars in the guise of
classic heroes, and its success was so marked that its old
maid author resolved to secede from the Hotel de Ram-
bouillet and embark in leadership herself. When the
languishments and love maps of A rtamlnes ten-volume
successor, Cl'elie (1656), created a maudlin craze through-
out feminine Paris, Mile, de Scudery's salon in the rue
de Beauce became the consecrated temple of preciosity.

Socially ambitious women were early proselytes of the
new cult. Knowing the futility of storming the exclusive
Hotel de Rambouillet, they concentrated their attacks
upon the weaker stronghold, and in their zeal for re-
finement endeavoured to annex the entire realm of
knowledge : if Mile, de Scudery's salon was lacking in
distinction, it certainly made up for it in frenzy. In
the rue St. Thomas du Louvre, preciosity had been
a creditable avoidance of distasteful terms, — a literary
movement no more pronounced than the euphuism of
Sidney and Lyly, less so than that of Gongora in Spain

(or Marini in Italy, — but in the rue de Beauce it became
an absurd neology and the cult of extravagant words.

LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES 105

Imagine a fashion demanding circumlocutory quirks
in ordinary conversation, such as "defiers of the weather"
for hats, " indispensables of conversation " for chairs,
" furniture of the mouth " for teeth, " pearls of Iris " for
tears, and "gates of the understanding" for ears; yeti
such was the preciosity of Mile, de Scudery's disciples.)
Moreover, it was not confined to love-lorn spinsters or
to new women; for seach precieuse had her alcoviste, or
attendant cavalier, and precious verbiage was designed,
above all, adequately to express the tender passion.

There were several degrees of precieuses — les illustres,
les grandesy et les petites — and in Parisian society a pre-
cieuse illustre took rank as a duchess at court. In the
capital the disciples of the new ritual performed just
such antics of culture as did the aesthetes in England a
quarter of a century ago, and in the provinces, where
Parisian manners were aped by all foolish women, the
pranks of the precieuses passed all reason.

This was the state in which preciosity found itself
when Moliere reached Paris in the autumn of 1658.
He was no stranger to the cult, for it had already
penetrated Languedoc ; furthermore, Sarrasin, the poet-
secretary of the Prince de Conti, was a familiar of the
Blue Room and the successor of Voiture as arbiter of
elegance. The influence of such a man upon a provin-
cial court must have been paramount; and when Moliere
took part in the Ballet of the Incompatible* at Mont-
pellier in 1655, he doubtless met many ridiculous pre-
cieuses, any one of whom might have inspired his
comedy. Indeed, Grimarest states that Les Precieuses
ridicules was first played in the provinces ; while Roe-
derer1 places its production at Beziers in 1654.

1 Memoir e pour servir a /' bistoire de la socM polie en France.

106 MOLlfeRE

La Grange and Vinot, on the other hand, assert in
the Preface of 1682 that " M. de Moliere made (fit) the
comedy of Les Pr'ecieuses ridicules in 1659," while the
former, in his Register ', calls it the poet's " third new
piece/' Roederer's arguments being far from conclusive
and Grimarest a much discredited authority, this point
is still a mooted one. Moliere' s precieuses, however, are
ladies from the provinces, and it remained his habit to
make use of scenes and characters from his earlier pieces ;
therefore it is reasonable to suspect that Les Precieuses
ridicules was a provincial canevas, embellished and recon-
structed for Parisian use.

Chapelle and Bachaumont, after their journey through
the South in 1656, composed a satire on the ways of
country precieuses which, it is more than likely, Moliere
had seen ; that same year, too, the Abbe de Pure pub-
lished a novel called The Precieuse; or, The Mystery
of the Alcove (La Precieuse ou le My s fere de la ruelle\
and a play by him on a similar topic was presented by
the Italians at the Hotel du Petit Bourbon. Indeed,
Moliere's contemporaries openly accused him of steal-
ing his idea from this churchman, — a false accusation,
of course, if his comedy had been first played in the
provinces.

Les Precieuses ridicules, as has been seen, was produced
at the Hotel du Petit Bourbon with marked success on
November eighteenth, 1659, and so antagonised the real
precieuses that the author was forced to withdraw it for
a fortnight. Now, as the reader is already aware, these
ladies were the society leaders of that day ; so it must
be admitted that in ridiculing the foibles of his most
influential patrons Moliere, still a man comparatively
unknown, was playing a bold game. This courage,

LES PR£CIEUSES RIDICULES

107

displayed at the moment when it was necessary to secure
his precarious hold upon the public, shows that talent
for aggressive leadership which became thenceforth so
dominant a feature of his character. In this discussion,
however, the play itself is being overlooked. The story
is simple, but a sufficient framework for delicious satire.
A word upon its construction :

Magdelon l and Cathos, newly come to Paris from the
provinces, are respectively daughter and niece to Gorgi-
bus, and have been provided by that worthy bourgeois
with a pair of honest suitors, called La Grange and Du
Croisy. Although unacquainted with the great world ex-
cept through Mile, de Scudery's vapid pages, these young
ladies assume the airs and graces of full-fledged pr'ecieuses,
and scorn their admirers for having the effrontery to
propose matrimony point-blank, instead of proceeding
discreetly in accordance with precious standards, by billets \
doux, petits soins, billets galants, et jolis vers.

Enraged at being jilted by such upstarts, La Grange
and Du Croisy plan a cruel revenge. The former has a
valet named Mascarille, who, as he says, cc can pass in
the eyes of most people for a fine wit — since nothing
is cheaper nowadays than cleverness " ; so this fellow,
dressed in extravagant finery and bearing the grandilo-
quent name of the Marquis de Mascarille, is borne by
chairmen into the very house of these imperious country
ladies, there to pass himself off as a wit and beau of
society. Deceived by his ribbons and his ready tongue,
both Magdelon and Cathos fall an easy prey to his blan-
dishments ; and flattered by the attentions of one so influ-
ential at court as Mascarille pretends to be, they consider

1 This is the spelling of the earlier editions of Molibre's works, the
name being first printed as Madelon in the edition of 1734.

io8 MOLlfiRE

their social fortunes made. To abet his fellow-servant's
knavery and complete the head-turning of the ridiculous
precieuseSy Du Croisy fs valet presents himself as the
Vicomte de Jodelet, un brave a trois foils — or fashion-
able fire-eater ; but at the moment when these rascals are
celebrating their triumph by music and an impromptu
dance, their masters appear to strip the foppish doublets
from their backs. Before the humiliated ladies who pre-
ferred their lackeys to themselves, La Grange and Du
Croisy give the pair a sound beating ; Mascarille, robbed
of his finery and sore from his blows, thus bemoans his
fate to his fellow victim :

Is this the way to treat a marquess? But it is the
way of the world. The slightest disgrace makes those
who petted us despise us. Come, comrade, let's seek
our fortunes elsewhere. They care for nothing here but
vain appearances : virtue unadorned has no consideration.

Upon this canvas Moliere painted a caricature of
polite society. The antics of preciosity had passed all
bounds of intelligence ; so his subject appealed to every
sane mind. Even though his pr'ecieuses were nobodies
from the provinces, and his alcoviste a masquerading
servant, the shaft went home because its aim was true.
Magdelon and Cathos languished and sighed like the real
precieuseSy and their talk was just as maudlin. Take, for
instance, the former's protest to her father against the
boorish love-making of La Grange and Du Croisy :

My cousin will tell you, father, as well as I, that mat-
rimony ought never to happen till after other adventures.
A lover, to be agreeable, must know how to express fine
sentiments ; to breathe soft, tender, and passionate vows ;
his courtship, too, must be according to the rules. In the
first place, he should behold the fair creature with whom

LES PRfeCIEUSES RIDICULES 109

he falls in love at a place of worship, when out walking,
or at some public ceremony ; or else he should be intro-
duced to her by a relative or a friend — as if by chance ;
and when he leaves her presence, he should appear pen-
sive and downcast. For a time he hides his passion
from the object of his admiration ; but, when paying her
visits, he should never fail to present some question of
gallantry to be discussed by all the wits present. When
the moment of his declaration arrives — which usually
should be contrived in some shady walk with the com-
pany at a distance — it must be quickly followed by anger,
shown by our blushing, sufficient to banish the lover
from our presence for a time. He soon finds means,
however, to appease our resentment and gradually accus-
tom us to his tender avowals, as well as to draw that
confession from our lips which causes us so much pain.
Then follow vicissitudes : rivals who cross the path of
our mutual love, parental persecution, unfounded jeal-
ousies, complaints, despair, abductions, and all that fol-
lows. Thus are such matters arranged in fashionable
society, and true gallantry cannot dispense with these
forms. But to come out point-blank with a proposal of
marriage — to make love with a marriage contract, and
begin a novel at the wrong end ! Once more, father,
nothing could be more tradesman-like, and the mere
thought of it makes me sick at heart.

Surely there are many foolish girl novel readers in the
twentieth century whose conception of the art of love-
making is not unlike Magdelon's. Indeed, Moliere's
characterisation and dialogue display such a modern
quality that Les Pr'ecieuses ridicules might readily be
edited so as to become a skit upon the cc smart set "
of Paris, London, or New York. Take, for instance,
this bit in which the masquerading servant Mascarille
impresses the country pr'ecieuses with his metropolitan
airs:

no MOLIERE

MASCARILLE

Well, ladies, what say you of Paris ?
MAGDELON

Alas, what can we say ? Not to confess that Paris is the main
office of wonders, the centre of good manners, taste, and wit, one
must be the antipode of rational.

MASCARILLE

As for me, I maintain that outside Paris there is no salvation
for right-minded people.

CATHOS
A truth most indisputable.

MASCARILLE
Of course, it is rather muddy, but then we have the sedan.

MAGDELON

True ; the sedan is a marvellous curtailment of the insults of
both mud and inclement weather.

If the word automobile were substituted for sedan in
the foregoing, it would be difficult to believe Mascarille
was not a present-day valet masquerading as un homme du
dernier chic. Again, when he is calling attention to his
dress, his conceit is not unlike the modern French dandy
who instead of ribbons from Perdrigeon's wears ties from

the rue de la Paix.

MASCARILLE

What do you think of my finery ? Is it in keeping with my
coat ?

CATHOS
Perfectly !

MASCARILLE
A well selected ribbon, eh ?

MAGDELON
Tremendously well selected — real Perdrigeon.

MASCARILLE
What have you to say of my canons ?

LES PR&CIEUSES RIDICULES in

MAGDELON
They have quite an air !

MASCARILLE
I may boast that they are a quarter wider than any yet made.

CATHOS

I am forced to confess that I have never seen exquisite taste
in dress carried so far.

MASCARILLE

Kindly apply to these gloves the reflection of your sense of
smell.

MAGDELON
They smell terribly well.

CATHOS
I have never inhaled a more delicate scent.

MASCARILLE
{Presenting his curled wig to be smelt.) And this ?

MAGDELON

It is perfect in quality ! It penetrates charmingly the sub-
limity of one's brain.

MASCARILLE

You have n't said anything about my feathers. How do you
find them ?

CATHOS
Terribly beautiful!

MASCARILLE

Do you know that each sprig cost me a gold louis ; but,
above all, it is my mania to wish everything of the very best.

MAGDELON

1 assure you, we have tastes in common, you and I ; for I have
a frantic delicacy regarding what I wear. Even to my stock-
ings, I can't endure anything that is not made by a skilled
workwoman.1

1 The ribbon referred to by Mascarille was the favour worn upon the
shoulder or breast of his doublet — an article brought into fashion by

ii2 MOLlfeRE

By substituting " tie " for ribbon in this dialogue,
" spats'* for canons, and "top-hat" for feathers, Mas-
carille's language might readily be that of a modern
popinjay. Indeed, middle class young ladies who ape
society manners and servants who fancy themselves
above their station are such perennial types that to
this day Les Prtcieuses ridicules never fails to call forth
peals of laughter. Imagine, then, the sensation it cre-
ated when the very people ridiculed were seated in the
boxes ! The dialogue between the false marquess and his
precious dupes might have passed for a model conversa-
tion atone of Mile, de Scudery's Saturdays ; flowery love
verse, too, received its coup de gr&ce when languishing
Mascarille composed this impromptu quatrain in tribute
to Magdelon :

Oh, oh! quite careless of your charm,
My heart, without a thought of harm,
Is slyly filched by glances lief —
Stop thief, stop thief, stop thief, stop thief!

Too many poets had indulged in superfine expression
of the tender passion, too many butterflies of society had
figured in the role of alcoviste, for the fashionable play-
goer not to appreciate Moliere's satire even though it
cut to the quick. Henceforth a precieuse — whether

Mazarin's sumptuary decree of 1644, prohibiting the use, not only of
point lace, but gold, silver, and copper lace (clinquant) as well. Canons
were the canions, or ruffles, worn at the end of the baut de cbausses, or
loose breeches, just where they joined the has de bottes, or boot-hose.
At the time of Mascarille's first appearance they were wide rolls of
starched linen such as were said by a writer of the period to so resemble
paper lanterns that " one evening a laundress of the royal palace made use
of one to protect her candle from the wind." Mascarille's feathers were
the dozen or more ostrich plumes which ornamented his broad felt hat.

LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES 113

illustrious, great, or small — could not fail to be ridicu-
lous as well.

The simple announcement of its title should have
been sufficient to make Moliere's new comedy create a
flutter in society ; but the author evidently did not
foresee its phenomenal success, else he would not have
presented it as a mere after-piece to tragedy. The
orateur, too, must have failed lamentably in advertising
its sensational merits ; for the receipts at the first pro-
duction were but five hundred and thirty-three livres ;
while, at the second, with the prices doubled, fourteen
hundred were realised. Nevertheless, many distinguished
people were present at the first performance ; for in
Menagiana, a collection of the sayings and criticisms of
Gilles Menage, published shortly after that writer's death,
we learn that " Mile, de Rambouillet was there, together
with Mme. de Grignan, M. Chapelain, and the entire
Hotel de Rambouillet set."

The Mme. de Grignan here mentioned was one of
Mme. de Rambouillet's five daughters. Her more
celebrated sister, Julie, had married the Marquis de
Montausier fourteen years previously, while her three
remaining sisters were nuns ; but Mme. de Rambouillet
herself lived only a few doors from the Hotel du Petit
Bourbon, and though past seventy was far from being
too infirm to attend an afternoon performance of a play
the title of which should have piqued her curiosity ; so
it seems far more likely that Mile, is a proof-reader's
error for Mme., than that Menage or his editors made
the extraordinary mistake of calling the Marquise de
Montausier Mile, de Rambouillet.

Somaize, the historian of preciosity, chronicles that

n4 MOLlfiRE

after the first production of Les Prhieuses, " an influen-
tial alcoviste interdicted that spectacle for several days ; " *
but Mme. de Rambouillet was a woman of too much
sense and good taste to have incited this persecution.
Barely three years later she invited Moliere to her hotel
— a proof that she bore him little malice; and if she
was present at the first performance of his satire on the
foibles of her silly imitators, one is tempted to believe
she shared the prescience which Menage's admiring
editors impute to him :

The piece was received with general applause, and I
[Menage], in particular, was so satisfied with it that I
immediately perceived the effect it would produce. On
leaving the theatre, I took M Chapelain by the hand
and said, " Monsieur, you and I have approved all the
stupidities which have just been criticised so cleverly and
with such good sense; but, believe me — to quote what
Saint-Remy said to Clovis — * We must burn what we
have adored, and adore what we have burnt.' '

Les Precieuses ridicules sounded the death knell of
affectation on the stage as well as in society. Accus-
tomed to classic tragedy or Italian farce, the audience
could scarcely believe its lifelike characters were in a play.
Their very names, too, were those of the actors on the
stage : Magdelon was Madeleine Bejart ; Cathos, Cathe-
rine de Brie ; 2 La Grange and Du Croisy, the new
recruits of that name. Jodelet, the lean farine from the
Theatre du Marais, with sombre doublet buttoned to his
chin in the style of the old court, and a huge false beard

1 Le Grand Dictionnaire des Precieuses.

2 M. A ime- Martin arbitrarily allots the role of Magdelon to Mile, de
Brie, and that of Cathos to Mile, du Pare ; but in the case of the latter,
he is manifestly in error, as she was not a member of the company at the
time.

LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES 115

upon his whiteneH face, played the Vicomte de Jodelet ;
while Mascarille, the swaggering, insolent, masquerading
valet in love with his own vanity, was Moliere himself.1
Mile, des Jardins — an eye-witness of that first per-
formance — thus describes Moliere' s droll make-up :

His wig was so huge that it swept the stage every
time he bowed, and his hat so small that it is easy to
imagine that the marquess carried it in his hand more
often than upon his head. His cravat suggested a
seemly dressing-gown ; and his canons seemed made for
children to play hide-and-seek in. . . . A bunch of tassels
dangled from his pocket as if it were a horn of plenty ;
and his shoes were so covered with ribbons that you
could not tell whether they were Russia leather, English
calf-skin, or Morocco ; at all events, I know they were at
least half a foot in height, and I found it hard to under-
stand how heels so high and slender could carry the
weight of the marquess, his ribbons, canons, and powder.2

I The success of the play was instantaneous. Accord-

/ing to tradition, an old man in the audience cried out:

(^Courage, Moliere, that is real comedy ! " — a verdict

upheld by posterity. If Moliere's victory was complete,

still he paid the customary penalty of depreciation and

petty annoyance. His piece was stolen from the Abbe

de Pure, said jealous rivals, or found among the papers

of Guillot-Gorju (a dead comedian of the Hotel de Bour-

gogne) ; 8 and the reader already knows the story of the

1 Moliere was then known upon the stage as Mascarille ; for Somaize,
in the preface of his comedy Les Veritable* precieusesy calls the author
Mascarillet and dismisses him contemptuously as "one whose acting has
pleased enough people for him to be sufficiently vain to boast of being
the chief farceur of France."

a Recit en prose et en vers de la farce des Precieuses.

* Le Cercle des femmes by Chappuzeau and Jodelet ou le Mattre valet

n6 MOLIERE

official persecution which resulted in the loss of his
theatre.

He made more than one attempt to mollify the
enraged precieuses, and even went so far, in 1660, as
to present a comedy by another author entitled ^he
True and the False Precieuse (La Vraye et fausse pre-
cieuse) ; while in the preface to his own play he is
careful to say that —

The most commendable things are frequently aped
by vulgar monkeys who deserve to be flouted ; and these
vicious imitations of the best have in all ages been the
subject of comedy ... so the genuine precieuses would
be wrong to take offence when I make game of the
ridiculous people who imitate them so badly.

This attempted pacification of his enemies was merely
diplomacy. "It is my belief," he said at a later day,
" that, for a man in my position,1 I can do no better than
attack the vices of my time with ridiculous likenesses."
Les Precieuses ridicules was his first skirmish in this war
against the false. In subsequent years he never let pass
a favourable opportunity to marshal his mental forces in
unremitting hostility to the hypocrites and formalists of
his day ; for Moliere, the poet militant, was a master
strategist.

In Segraisiana, a miscellany of the sayings and recol-
lections of Segrais, the poet, published in 1721, Moliere
is reputed to have said, after the success of Les Precieuses
ridicules, that " it was no longer necessary for him to

by Scarron are plays from which Moliere may have culled ideas for his
comedy.

1 This statement is found in the first petition Moliere presented to the
King for permission to play Le Tartujfe in public. Dam femploi ou je
me trouve are his words, and they are held by commentators to refer to
his position as comic poet.

LES PRECIEUSES RIDICULES II?

study Plautus and Terence or pluck from the fragments

Menander.' «, need study only society," w§aTh
boast ; but as ,t „ recorded over half a century after the
numph which called it forth, one is tempted Vdoub
he chronicler's veracity. Moliere was too modest eve
o have played the role of fanfaron ; so, like the story of

inter rtteTratherlT ^'^ ^ SWagSering sho^ be

e verdict or time than as an actual
occurrence

It was indeed true that he need study only society.
-^T^^jidicules, as has been stated in an earlier

oneCt'p^y L ts'e Til C°medy ^ mannerS' ^ a
is farcical in construction, so technically it must6^'
cWd with the poet's light buffooneries^ but ln th
that it ,s a dramatic picture of life, this trifline

becomes pure comedy. In characterisation, too!
it is a dramaf-ir loM^t^^^u TT /-

.m.tated classic or Italian models;

his
earnnb at the outside crust of

"»g, began to wnte what he termed "essavs "
a style mtended as a protest against the stilted Id ar "

fican,t of th Accord. to h.s Qwn .m

he wrote a httle of everything, and nothing
-m true French fashion"; but he took a fai?

t rt view of life' and thr°^ *« ^

truth became unconsciously the Dean of

ert ,°ne Ca"n0t read hi- -thout being
with the modernness of his point of view ;

n8 MOLlfiRE

nor can one see Moliere played without feeling that,
in spite of their ribbons, canonsy and feathered fans, his
characters are the men and women whom we meet daily.
Their talk is quaint, maybe, but their ambitions, foibles,
and philosophy of life are modern.

Naturalness, the very quality that distinguishes Mon-
taigne, constitutes the charm of Moliere's work. Our
poet knew humanity in all its phases, and being blessed
with the courage of his convictions, he too wrote in pro-
test against the stilted and artificial, "in true French
fashion." Until Les Precieuses ridicules appeared, he was
bound by Italian fetters, but henceforth he was stead-
fast in his Gallic loyalty. If at moments his work be-
came objectively Italian, his point of view was subjective,
his technic French. Truth was his ideal ; and with Les
Precieuses ridicules as foundation, he built from the far-
cical ruins of the past his eternal city, — a Rome to
which the roads of modern comedy all lead.

THE END OF APPRENTICESHIP 119

VIII
THE END OF APPRENTICESHIP

IN Les Pr'ecieuses ridicules transalpine Mascarille appears
as a naturalised Frenchman, but Moliere was verging on
forty when this play was produced, and needed a vehicle
less sprightly for his talent ; so Sganarelle was created to
supplant his predecessor. A homely bourgeois, through
and through, with all the prejudice, thrift, and cunning
of his class, this riper character bears but slight relation
to Zanarello, his Italian namesake. Like Shakespeare's
Falstaff, or the Sancho of Cervantes, he belongs to his
creator. If from time to time he savours of the crea-
tions of Rabelais or Scarron, it is only because he, too,
is thoroughly human.

*fhe Flying Physician, it is true, contained a character
of that name, but this personage was merely a rogue
with the attributes of Mascarille ; the real Sganarelle is
first met with in the one-act rhymed farce bearing his
name. Thereafter, a Frenchman to the bone, he reappears
in The School for Husbands (UEcole des maris), The Forced
Marriage (Le Manage forc'e), Don Juan ; or, The Feast
of Stone (Don Juan ou le festin de pierre), and The Doctor
in Spite of Himself.

Sganarelle; or, The Imaginary Cuckold (Sganarelle, ou
le Cocu imaginaire), the one-act vehicle of his first real
appearance, is replete with rapid action ; but to present

120 MOLIERE

the plot in its entirety would only bewilder the reader.
It is enough to say that false appearances lead jealous,
self-sufficient, bourgeois Sganarelle to believe his wife is
faithless, and a pair of guileless lovers each to regard
the other as the cause of his unhappiness, in a way so
ingenious and plausible that the reader's sympathies are
commanded to a degree seldom accorded to characters so
fatuous. Written wholly in a spirit of raillery, this farce
may be accepted as a protest against the insipid romantic
school, — a resurrection of primitive Gallic wit. It is
so cleverly constructed that, by the mere substitution of
spirited colloquial prose for its somewhat antiquated and
often ribald verse, it might serve as a modern "curtain
raiser " ; while its sentiments are so far from being ar-
chaic that, in the following diatribe against husbands
delivered by Sganarelle's wife, George Meredith may be
said to be antedated by nearly two centuries and a half
in his plea for easy divorce :

To be a marvel for a day

Is but a husband's usual way ;

Love's troth he'll plight with ardent fire,

But of caresses soon will tire.

Then the base traitor scorns our charms

For solace in another's arms.

Ah, me! if woman might concert

A change of husbands as of skirt.

With Les Pr'ecieuses ridicules Moliere planted the
standard of truth upon the ramparts of the false. To
renew hostilities against the privileged classes would have
been bad generalship, so he used the broad humour of
Sganarelle to make his enemies forget the stinging satire
of its predecessor. However, he did not escape the
usual charge of plagiarism : Louis Riccoboni — an eigh-

THE END OF APPRENTICESHIP 121

teenth century writer who denies originality to all but
three of his comedies — pronounces Sganarelle an adap-
tation of an Italian farce, called The Portrait ; or, Har-
lequin Horned by Opinion (II Ritratto ovvero Arlechino
cornuto per opinions)* As this piece is first known to
have been played in 1716, its priority should be estab-
lished before it is presented as Sganarelle's original ; for,
to quote Monsieur Louis Moland, " The assertions of
Riccoboni and the wiseacres who have followed in his
footsteps have been accepted altogether too readily."2
The popular success of Sganarelle has been noted in an
earlier chapter; it is only necessary to add that of all its
author's plays it was the one most frequently performed
before the King.

Returning for the moment to events, Moliere's reno-
vated theatre in the Palais Royal was opened on the
twentieth of January ,ju6£i. This gave him a playhouse
of his own, one destined to be his theatrical home until
his death. Although he shared it with the Italians
when they returned to France, they were the tenants, he
the landlord ; the regular theatrical days belonged to

him. This new theatre was opened ^jth a , .dflu.b.te.-rbJH

consisting of 'The Love Tiff and Sganarelle; but a piece
was already in rehearsal which Moliere felt would estab-
lish his reputation as a dramatist of the first order, — a
belief destined to be rudely shattered.

At the time of the King's wedding a troupe of
Spanish actors had been received with considerable
friendliness by the Parisian stage, though the public held
aloof. Their advent, however, created a taste for the
Spanish drama among literary people, and was apparently

1 Observations sur la Com'edie et sur le genie de Moliere.

2 (Euvres completes de Moliere, Vol. II.

122 MOLlfiRE

not without effect upon Moliere ; for in attempting the
one serious drama of his career he chose a Spanish
subject. Don Garcia of Navarre ; ory The Jealous Prince
(Doih Garde de Navarre ou le Prince jaloux) 1 was the
name of this venturesome effort. It was presented at
the Palais Royal, February fourth, 1661, proving so
lamentable a failure that only seven public performances
were given.

This ill-fated play was the outcome of Moliere's love
for tragedy, — a futile attempt to scale dramatic mountain
tops. His experience might have shown him that truth
is the straightest path to the highest art ; but instead of
painting human nature with the inimitable touch of Les
Precieuses ridicules^ he resorted to heroics, and composed
a tragi-comedy or reconciliation drama (Versohnungs-
drama, the Germans style it), which, being neither tragedy
nor comedy, fell like most attempts of the kind between
two stools. Jealousy, made ridiculous in Sganarelle, be-
came a noble passion in Don Garcia; but Moliere's
tedious prince is too suspicious and too unreasonable to
be sympathised with ; misunderstood Elvire, his lady-
love, far too exemplary to be diverting; so this drama
of exalted jealousy is dull to a degree, and moreover
never rises to a tragic climax. The story of its failure
can be no more tersely told than by Voltaire :

Moliere played the role of Don Garcia; and this
play taught him that, as an actor, he had no talent for
the serious. Both the drama and Moliere's acting were
very badly received. This piece, drawn from the Span-

1 In the seventeenth century the Spanish word Don was written
Dom in France, — a word nearer the Latin Dominus in form, and still in
use in Portugal.

THE END OF APPRENTICESHIP 123

ish, has never been presented since its failure. Moliere's
budding reputation suffered much from this disgrace, and
his enemies triumphed for a time.1

Voltaire, like other commentators, arbitrarily attributes
Don) Garcia to a Spanish source ; but, in view of its
resemblance to an Italian comedy of jealousy by Andrea
Cicognini,3 it would seem to be Spanish only in subject.
It proved a failure so complete that La Grange disdained
to credit its authorship to his chief; yet to the modern
reader it is not devoid of charm. Indeed, when judged
with regard to dreariness, it compares so favourably with
other tragi-comedies of that period that one is tempted to
agree with M. Mesnard3 in believing that its failure was
in some measure due to its author's acting in the title-
role, — a point made apparent by Mascarille's contention
in Les Precieuses ridicules that " the great comedians are
alone capable of giving things their true value." " The
others," that rogue continues, "are ignoramuses, who
recite as they talk and don't know how to roar their
verses." Now, the "great comedians" referred to by
Mascarille were the actors of the Hotel de Bourgogne ;
" the others," Moliere's own company ; so if the poet
recited Don Garcia s turgid lines in natural tones, his
performance, howsoever artistic it might appear to us,
must have been distasteful to an audience accustomed
to actors who "roared" their verses.

Still, Moliere did not lay ponderous Don Garcia of
Navarre aside without one final effort to demonstrate
his own belief in it. Six months subsequent to its fail-
ure he played it before the King, and after three farther

1 Vie de Moliere, avec des jugements sur ses ouvrages.

2 Le Gelosie fortunate del principe Rodrigo.
8 Cluvrts de Moliere.

i24 MOLIERE

attempts to make it please the court tried it once more
at the Palais Royal ; but the first verdict of the public
stood as final. He accepted this universal condemna-
tion, then, by refusing to have it printed; but later
made use of certain of its sentiments and verses in The
Learned Women, Amphitryon, and 'The Hypocrite. Fur-
thermore, Don Garcia was the herald of a masterpiece.
After its author had himself suffered the pangs of jeal-
ousy and learned beyond peradventure that truth was
the road and comedy the vehicle for his genius, he
wrote 'The Misanthrope, a play inspired by the same
ideals as its sombre predecessor, but resembling it little
more in craftsmanship than a masterful statue resembles
a tombstone.

The groping period of outlines, sketches, and coups
d'essais with which Moliere experimented on the public
and himself ended with Don Garcia of Navarre. Realising
his limitations, he now began to specialise his genius, and
utter failure never crossed his path again. His appren-
ticeship terminated at the very moment when the young
King, freed from tutelage, began to rule. Mazarin died at
Vincennes, March ninth, 1661 ; and when the president
of the assembly of the clergy asked to whom he should
address himself in future upon affairs of state, Louis
replied : " To me." These words sounded the key-note
of a new era. Henceforth Moliere's success, like all
else in France, was dependent on the monarch's will.

Before his death the crafty cardinal eased his con-
science by presenting his ill gotten wealth to the King.
Louis, not to be outdone, gave it a clear title by
promptly returning it as a gift from himself, and was
requited for this generosity by the following remarkable
words : " Sire, I owe your Majesty everything ; but I

THE END OF APPRENTICESHIP 125

believe I can pay you, in a great degree, by giving you
Monsieur Colbert." This great man was then a subordi-
nate of Nicolas Fouquet, superintendent of the finances,
an official whose business methods are summed up in his
unabashed reply when the King asked for pocket-money :
" Sire, the exchequer is empty, but his Eminence, the
Cardinal, will lend you what you want."

Upon Mazarin's death Fouquet became the man of
the hour ; yet, like many a financier of modern times, he
rode for a fall. Gloomy Colbert, " who had never been
taught anything, but knew everything," went nightly to
the King's cabinet with proofs of his chiefs pilfering.
While his downfall was thus secretly plotted, the vain-
glorious superintendent, unconscious of impending dan-
ger, planned a marvellous fete in honour of his young
monarch, — a fete which gave our poet the opportunity
to enhance the royal favour already won ; though, for
the moment, its story must give place to an account of
the play which retrieved the popularity Don Garcia had
lost.

The comedy which accomplished this is called The
School for Husbands (UEcole des marts], — a piece so
amusing in conception, strong in situation, and clever in
characterisation that Voltaire credits it with having estab-
lished Moliere's reputation for ever ; and further adds
that, " had he written but this one play, he might have
passed for an excellent author of comedy." * This is
not hyperbolic praise. The School for Husbands fulfils all
the demands of pure comedy ; moreover, it is refined in
tone, — an even rarer quality in its day.

Its story concerns a pair of brothers having the guar-
dianship of two sisters whom they intend, respectively, to

1 Vie de Moliere, avec des jagements sur ses ouvrages.

ia6 MOLIERE

marry. Ariste, the elder, gives his ward, Leonor, full
confidence and every liberty, much to the disgust of
Sganarelle, the younger, who jealously keeps her sister,
Isabelle, in strict seclusion.

" I find that one must win a woman's heart to govern
her," says Ariste. " I have always consented to Leonor's
young wishes. . . . Amusements, balls, and comedies
are things I hold quite proper in forming youthful char-
acter; and since one must breathe its air, the world,
according to my idea, is a better school than any pedant's
book."

Ariste's theory of education has made little headway
in France. Sganarelle's doctrine that a young girl
should " close her ears to the flattery of coxcombs and
never walk abroad unattended," conforms more nearly
with the customs of that country; but Moliere shows
his own sympathy with Ariste's enlightened views by the
ingenious way in which the apparently demure and docile
Isabelle out-manoeuvres suspicious Sganarelle and makes
him the unwitting go-between for her lover, Valere, and
herself. So cleverly does this typical jeune file play her
cards that her poor guardian is tricked and discomfited
at every turn, only to learn that he has been the in-
advertent means of aiding his ward to marry his young
rival for her hand.

In this denouement, which Voltaire calls "the best that
Moliere ever contrived," Ariste's theory of trust and
freedom triumphs unconditionally. Indeed, The School
for Husbands is throughout an argument in behalf of
that character's philosophy that " locks and bars do not
make the virtue of our wives or daughters." Montaigne
held that "it would be more fitting to see the class
rooms strewn with leaves and flowers than with the

THE END OF APPRENTICESHIP 127

blood-stained stumps of birch rods," and in The School
for Husbands Moliere, too, preaches this doctrine of
kindness to the young. The world is just beginning
to listen to the wisdom of these great Frenchmen.

Pure comedy, besides painting life sincerely and lightly,
should tell the story of an individual's triumph over
the complications of existence, in a way that bears no
kinship with the sorrow of tragedy or the hilarity of
farce. Verse, although not essential, adds dignity, and
the more closely the three oft decried unities are ob-
served, the better organised will the structure be; yet
the charm of comedy depends, above all, upon the skill
with which both character and situation are blended in
an atmosphere of natural mirth. Judged by these stand-
ards, 'The School for Husbands is the first pure comedy
fro m^ M Qliere^s j>e n ; and if the embodiment of noble
thoughts and emotions in a musical flow of words
be poetry, he rises, by means of Ariste's high-minded
stanzas, to the dignity of a true poet.

Structurally it is admirable. The story of Isabelle's
triumph over suspicious Sganarelle and her happy union
with Valere is consistently told by cleverly probable
situations ; while Ariste's well requited love for Leonor
forms the contrast necessary for the secondary plot.
Heretofore the classical five acts of the ancients had
been the common form for both tragedy and comedy ;
by using three only in his School for Husbands, Moliere
adopted a construction now recognised as the ideal form
for the latter.

The characterisation of this comedy, too, deserves all
praise. Two persons so well contrasted as liberal minded
Ariste and his bigoted, middle class brother, Sganarelle,
one seldom meets ; while in Isabelle's attendant, Lisette,

128 MOLIERE

Moliere introduces the confidential servant, whose famil-
iarity, cunning, and fidelity he finally apotheosised in the
Toinette of 'The Imaginary Invalid, — the archetype of all
such maids.

Since Terence, Boccaccio, and possibly Lope de Vega
each contributed his share in the situations, entire origi-
nality cannot be claimed for this play ; but Moliere's
plots and characters were derived either from his ex-
tended knowledge of classical, Italian, French, and even
Spanish dramatic literature, his keen observation of the
world, or the experiences of his own life. For instance,
The Blunderer was the result of research, Les Precieuses
ridicules, of observation. The School for Husbands, on
the other hand, was a subjective play, wherein the
author's own jealous nature found vent in Sganarelle. his
ideals expressing themselves in Ariste's liberal philosophy.
But of this more presently.

Looked at, therefore, from every point of view except
that of originality, Voltaire's judgment is correct. Mo-
liere's public, too, was quick to recognise the charm of
his new comedy ; for although produced at the end of the
dull month of June it attained such instantaneous success
that within a fortnight gossip Loret gave it this doggerel
tribute :

The School for Husbands, you should know,

Pleases all Paris as a show.

This piece, so highly prized and new,

Of Mr. Molier (sic) is the due.

Such charm and fun does it disclose

That off to Fontainebleau he goes,

With actors skilled to entertain

In plays both classic and profane ;

There, with its humour unforeseen,

To bring delight to King and Queen.1

1 La Muse historique, July seventeenth, 1 66 1.

THE END OF APPRENTICESHIP 129

The words " King and Queen " refer to the success of
The School for Husbands before the mighty.

While it was drawing crowds to the Palais Royal,
Fouquet was entertaining lavishly at his fool's paradise
of Vaux-le-Vicomte, not far from Fontainebleau. His
guests included Monsieur and his bride, Henrietta of
England, together with her mother, the dowager queen
of that country ; and as the King's brother had been
married only three months, what more appropriate for
the waning days of a honeymoon, thought the superin-
tendent, than to summon Moliere's comedians to present
their skit upon husbands ? They came, and the success
of the new play at Vaux was so great that the King must
needs see it at Fontainebleau.

This triumph, however, was only a prelude to the
part Moliere played at Fouquet's downfall. Versailles
was then merely a square palace with a park of tangled
undergrowth ; St. Germain and Fontainebleau, mere
hunting-boxes — put to shame by the mosaic floors,
marbles, paintings, vases, bas-reliefs, parks, cascades, and
fountains of Vaux-le-Vicomte. Le Vau had been the
architect, Le Brun the decorator, and Le Notre the
landscape-gardener of the superintendent's marvellous
country-seat; his maitre £ hot el was the peerless Vatel.
To show the handiwork of these four geniuses to the
King was his ambitious dream ; and as Colbert thought
a royal visit would throw the superintendent off his
guard, the entire court was ordered to make merry at
Fouquet's expense.

If the park at Vaux-le-Vicomte was a hotbed of
conspiracy, its shaded alleys, Italian gardens, bowers,
walks, grottoes, terraces, and esplanades made it fairy-
land as well. To amuse a young king and his pleasure

ijo MOLIERE

bent court between the amazing repasts devised by Vatel,
there were games of skill and chance, musicians, dancing
girls, and fireworks ; and wherever a boscage gave shelter,
baths, tennis-courts, swings, chapels, and billiard-rooms.
In the midst of lovers' trysts stood dainty booths where
fans, gloves, sweetmeats, pastilles, or perfumes were dis-
tributed to the guests ; while, to cap the climax of this
newly rich hospitality, the insatiate gambler found upon
his dressing-table a well filled purse, placed there by his
ostentatious host. But instead of the encomiums poor
Fouquet looked for, came cruel rebuff.

When the King viewed this peculated splendour, he
merely said, " I am shocked at such extravagance," while
the courtiers, instead of being overawed, grew envious.
Blazoned throughout the chateau were the Fouquet arms

— a squirrel pursued by a snake up the branch of a tree

— and beneath was the motto, "Quo non ascendam."
The King, whose knowledge of Latin was limited,
asked its meaning, and jealous favourites were quick
to interpret it as " Whither wilt thou not rise," point-
ing at the same time to the serpent, which by a strange
coincidence was a charge upon the arms of Colbert.

His Majesty was, indeed, in a mood to wonder whither
the squirrel would not aspire to rise ; for, while Colbert,
the serpent, coiled nearer and nearer with poison in his
fangs, Fouquet made a roue's bid — so the story goes —
of two hundred thousand livres for the charms of slender,
blue-eyed Louise de la Valliere. But this one true lady
in all that wanton court loved the handsome young King
with the fervour of a girl's first love, and told him of the
insult in a flood of tears. The monarch was tempted
to transgress the laws of hospitality then and there by
arresting the rake who had robbed him and tried to

THE END OF APPRENTICESHIP 131

debauch his sweetheart; but the wiser counsel of his
mother, Anne of Austria, prevailing, the superintendent
was spared, until a fortnight later a time more opportune
arrived to compass his downfall.1

In the midst of these plots and counterplots, with
their setting of love and enchantment, Moliere, engaged
by Fouquet, gave a comedy in an open-air theatre, with
interludes of music and dancing. The piece thus pre-
sented was The Bores (Les Facheux\ a skit in verse upon
court life written to order in a fortnight.

Nearly two years had elapsed since Les Precieuses ridi-
cules had startled Paris; meantime Moliere had gathered
courage for another onslaught on the follies of society.
The royal visit to Vaux gave him his opportunity ; but
instead of masking his batteries behind middle class
ladies from the provinces, or servants disguised as gen-
tlemen, he made a bold frontal attack upon the full
strength of the court. To no man could the folly of a
courtier be more apparent than to the King ; so the poet
aimed his satire at the flatterers and dandies swarming
about the throne. If the King laughed, what mattered
it if toadies and parasites should frown !

Moliere's new play was to be the climax of the super-
intendent's fete. When the guests had gathered in a
shaded alley, the author, without make-up or theatrical
costume, appeared alone ; and, apparently dumfounded
by the presence of the King and so many courtiers, made
a hasty apology for being without the actors necessary to
give a play.2 This was merely a ruse to whet curiosity,

1 Memoires de Louis XIV, edition de Charles Dreyss ; Siecle de Louis
XIV, by Voltaire ; The Life and Times of Louis XIV, by G. P. R.
James ; XV lime necle, by Paul Lacroix.

2 Moliere's Preface.

32 MOLIERE

for every detail had been looked to on that verdant
stage. The scenery was flowers and giant trees ; star
shine, the limelight ; and soon, to the strains of the royal
violins, a nymph appeared in a shell upon the waters of
a fountain, saying she came to that entrancing place from
her grotto deep to see the greatest monarch the world
had ever known.

In this flattering key she announced that the sole
purpose of the hour was well to amuse the King ; and to
honour him she summoned wood-nymphs, fauns, and
satyrs from the trees and thickets. They came, dancing
their lissome steps to the music of hautboys, to the
mournful plash of fountains, until from her vantage-
shell she called :

Bores, retire ; or, if he see you in some measure,
It must be solely for his pleasure ! l

The " he " referred to was, of course, the King ; and this
prologue was the signal for the play — if play it can be
called. The Bores was more of a conceit than a comedy ;
a series of sketches from the author's note-book on so-
ciety, presented with delightful ballet interludes. The
glot can actually be put in a nut-shell. Eraste, the hero,
has a rendezvous with his lady-love, Orphise, which,
during three brief acts in sparkling Alexandrine verse, a
dull lot of gentlemen bores prevent him from keeping.
One by one they waylay him and insist that he shall listen
to pet crotchets or settle silly quarrels. One has an air of
his own composition to hum ; another a new dance step
to show; a third is a gamester with a story of misfortune
to tell ; two more have a sentimental dispute whether or

1 The prologue in verse was written by Paul Pellisson, a poet in
Fouquet's service.

The Nymph of Vaux

THE END OF APPRENTICESHIP 133

not a lover ought to be jealous; and the distraught hero
is compelled to listen to these bores, — no sooner rid of
one than another appears with some new maggot in the
brain. A scene of real action finally occurs when Damis,
the guardian of Orphise, in seeking to avenge Eraste's
clandestine attentions to his ward, is set upon in the dark,
and his life spared by the hero whom he sought to
destroy. Damis's anger turns to gratitude, and Eraste
and Orphise are united, thus giving this delightful con-
ceit some semblance to a play.

After the success of Les Precieuses ridicules, Moliere,
according to tradition, was so dined and wined by cour-
tiers who wished to see some rival travestied, that when
he received Fouquet's order for a play he resolved to
write a skit upon the very fops who had bored him with
their pet ideas. If this be true, The Bores was certainly
a neat revenge ; for there was hardly a parasite at court
who did not see his counterpart flaunting plumes and
ribbons on Fouquet's woodland stage. In serving its
purpose " well to amuse the King," it was a masterpiece
of strategy too ; for Louis was so overjoyed with this
caricature of his courtiers that he congratulated the poet
personally, and, maliciously pointing to the Marquis de
Soyecourt, his grand veneur, or Master of the Stag
Hounds, said, " There is an original fellow you left
out." Moliere took the hint, and ten days later when
The Bores was repeated at Fontainebleau, the sports-
man's part of Dorante had been added. His hunting
jargon was learned, so the story goes, from De Soyecourt
himself; for the author, knowing nothing of the chase,
buttonholed the grand veneur, and made him chatter
about his favourite sport until the needed details were
procured.1

1 Me'nagiana.

i34 MOLIERE

j From that hour in which Moliere made him laugh at
\ the follies of his own courtiers, Louis never failed in his
protection. Henceforth, secure in the royal favour, our
poet might defy his enemies ; so The Bores, first of those
plays he wrote to amuse his King, proved indeed a tri-
umph. Although it must be classed as obsequious, its
Gallic truth was so apparent that it won for him an even
more notable partisan than Louis the Grand. La Fon-
taine, the fabulist, was a pensioner of Fouquet, and after
the historic fete which compassed his patron's downfall
he wrote a versified letter to a friend, acclaiming Moliere
greater than Terence, and crediting him with having
revolutionised the dramatic art ; for, as he concludes,

Full altered is the former style,
Chalked Jodelet 's no more worth while ;
And now it is no longer art,
One step from nature to depart.1

Thus La Fontaine, after Moliere the most original
genius of that time, recognised his rival's worth and
proved his own merit as a critic. That very quality of
never departing one step from nature is the charm of
Moliere. Full altered, indeed, was the former style !

1 Lettre a Maucroix.

ARMANDE BEJART 135

ARMANDE BfijART

THE actress who recited the naiad's prologue to The
Bores at Vaux-le-Vicomte was Madeleine Bejart, then
forty-three years old ; and the thought of Moliere's
faithful comrade trying to simulate a joyous nymph with
her time-worn smile is rendered even more pathetic by
the knowledge that a young rival was soon to play her
role of heroine in the poet's life as well as in his come-
dies. This usurper was Armande Bejart, Madeleine's
youngest sister, a girl of "twenty or thereabouts/' whom
Moliere married on Shrove Monday, 1662.

La Bejart must have known the prologue she was
speaking was concerned with another woman's happiness ;
but she had consolation in the thought that her sister's
veering nature would be the undoing of her in the end.
Standing alone on the shore, she heard the alluring song
and saw the hidden reef, but dared not cry a warning to
her lover. However, the story of Armande the siren
must give temporary place to a consideration of Moliere's
worldly situation at the time of his marriage, and the
reasons which led him to that act of folly.

In the early days of wandering, both Dufresne and
Madeleine Bejart shared with him the business manage-
ment of the troupe ; but after his plays had won Parisian
success, he became sole director, — a fact demonstrated
by the allotment to him of an extra share of the receipts

136 MOLI£RE

as author, and the statement made by La Grange on the
first page of his Register that, " This book belongs to
the Sieur la Grange, one of the comedians of the troupe
of the Sieur de Moliere."

In 1 66 1 his share as an actor was doubled in order
that his intended bride might be provided for; so if
his yearly income at the time of his marriage had not
reached the enviable sum of thirty thousand livres,1 with
which he is later accredited — a sum equivalent to as
many dollars — it was rapidly approaching it. He had
scrimped too much during the days of ill fortune not
to gratify his tastes when the coin of the public finally
jingled in his pockets ; and having an artist's tempera-
ment, he could no more avoid spending his money for
good fellowship and beautiful things than he could avoid
being born with emotional nerves. Yet he did not live
beyond his means, and took good care to guard his
interests against the rainy day which comes to nearly
every public entertainer. Although he enjoyed luxury,
and was reproached by his enemies for indulging in
tapestries, pictures, and other objects of art,2 generosity
was his cardinal virtue. "He always gave to the poor
with delight," says Grimarest, " while his charities were
never of the ordinary sort."

Rich, generous, and protected by his King, Moliere
possessed, at the time of that memorable performance
of 'The Bores at Vaux, all he had a right to hope for in
this world, except domestic happiness. To long for
relief from such a dearth in an otherwise well rounded
life was in the nature of the man. Bohemian though he
was, he prided himself upon his respectable birth, never

1 Vie de J.-B. P. Moliere by Louis Moland.

2 Le Boulanger de Cbalussay : Elomire bypocondre.

ARMANDE BEJART 137

letting pass an opportunity to sign himself valet de
cbambre du Roi ; while his plays show, time and again,
that domestic happiness was his ideal, and cuckoldom his
dread. This longing for a fireside was natural to one
of his antecedents ; this suspicion of the other sex, the
inevitable result of living in an atmosphere of loose
morality. But the society of frail women could not
pervert his bourgeois nature entirely. Madeleine Be-
jart having lost her charm, and a theatrical life its nov-
elty, Bohemia became his place of daily toil ; home, the
Promised Land.

From an undated letter in which Chapelle,1 his old
schoolmate, refers to a certain feminine trinity, many
biographers have jumped to the conclusion that, before
his marriage, he was a species of theatrical sultan. The
trinity, of course, was Madeleine Bejart, Marquise
Therese du Pare, and Catherine de Brie ; and because
Chapelle begs Moliere not to show some verses to his
women — a ses femmes are his words — a charge of
polygamy is evolved which, in view of the loose morals
of the time, it is impossible entirely to disprove. Never-
theless, as the French word femme means woman as well
as wife, the three ladies in question, being rival actresses,
may have been referred to merely in the sense of femmes
de theatre. Chapelle's letter and verses certainly present
Moliere and his trinity in a theatrical manner. After
humorously ridiculing his friend's troubles and describ-
ing the intrigues of Minerva, Juno, and Venus, together
with Jupiter's failure to reconcile these contentious
goddesses, he concludes :

1 Published in 1692 in Vol. V of the Recueil des plus belles pieces des
poetes fran$ois, tant anciens que modernes, depuis Villon jusqu'a M. de
Bens trade.

138 MOLIERE

Such is the tale ; do you not find

That any man of sober mind

Must, from its lesson, quickly see

' T is hard to make three dames agree ?

Profit, my friend, good Homer follow ;

Neutral be, and know 'tis hollow

Ever a project to conceive,

A god so great could not achieve.

According to Arsene Houssaye,1 "Juno was Made-
leine Bejart, who wished no one to approach Moliere ;
Minerva, the beautiful Du Pare on her marble pedestal,
and Venus, blond, voluptuous De Brie, a mellow peach,
a ray of light, a sweetheart unexpected." Still there is
nothing in Chapelle's lines to indicate that this likening
of Moliere, a stage autocrat, to Jove, and his trinity of
stars to quarrelsome goddesses, was anything more than
an attempt to lampoon his friend's theatrical trials. The
Mecca of every actress is the centre of the stage ; ca-
jolery, flattery, and even love-making are managerial
wiles. As our poet, in his triple role of author, man-
ager, and comedian, had only a single stage to satisfy
the aspirations of three leading ladies, it is quite con-
ceivable that his troubles differed greatly from those of a
Padisha.

Whatsoever the truth of this may be, he knew that
any young bourgeoise transplanted from her kitchen-
garden to his theatrical hothouse would either wither or
prove a hybrid ; yet to inspire a child of Vagabondia
with his longing for a hearthside seemed within the
range of possibility. Believing his knowledge of the
world would enable him to mould a wife according to
his own ideals, he chose for his experiment a young girl
1 Les Comediennes de Moliere.

ARMANDE BEJART 139

whom he had known from childhood, and so confident
was he of success that in The School for Husbands, pro-
duced but a few months before his marriage, he put into
the mouth of Ariste this sermon on the duties of a
guardian toward the ward he intends to marry :

We must instruct the young good-naturedly,

Their many faults correct with kind intent,

And never frighten them with virtue's name.

These maxims I have followed with Leonor :

I have not called all petty freedom crime ;

Her youthful wishes I 've considered, too :

The gods be praised, I 've not repented yet !

With my consent, she has indulged in balls,

Amusements, plays, and fine society :

Things which appeal to me as suitable

In broadening the youthful character ;

For, since we breathe its air, the world must be

A better school than any pedant's book.

What matters it if pretty ribbons, clothes,

And linens fine she buys ? My purpose is

To gratify her whims ; and these are still

The pleasures all rich folk should give their daughters.

Her father's testament would have us wed,

But my design is not to tyrannise.

I know our years are scarcely in accord,

And therefore give her choice the fullest range.

If forty thousand ecus should succeed

In making her overlook divergent years,

She '11 marry me ; if not, she 's free to choose ...

Resolved upon marrying a girl barely twenty, Moliere
gave this doctrine to sensible Ariste, while acting the
part of jealous Sganarelle. If the former represents the
ideality, the latter is far nearer the reality of his nature.
His betrothed hoodwinked him as completely as the
Isabelle of his play duped her jealous guardian ; for in

i4o MOLIliRE

the apt words of a commentator, " Love's blindness
made him believe that he, a serious, jealous, and passion-
ate husband of forty, would be able to captivate and
control a young wife."

The youth of Armande Bejart is shrouded in obscurity.
According to the anonymous author of The Famous Co-
medienne, "she passed the tender years of childhood in
Languedoc with a lady of quality," and it has been
hinted that this foster-mother lived at Nimes. From
facts so hazy, the truth can only be sketched. All the
elder Bejarts were strolling players, and as Marie Herve,
their mother, travelled with them, Armande probably
lived at a baby farm in Languedoc until old enough to
join her family. Sharing her sister's passion for the
stage, she became a member of the company at last, and
seeing in the manager a means to her own advancement,
used her wiles to win him. He meantime, watching
her grow to womanhood, took pleasure in training her
mind. At first her girlish graces and natural intelligence
merely excited his interest ; but as her charms matured
this sentiment assumed the character of passion.

Though this story has, at least, the ring of truth, the
parentage of the clever girl who thus beguiled Moliere
into matrimony is a mystery which may never reach
solution ; for the statement that she was " Madeleine
Bejart's youngest sister," made on a previous page, was
but a throw of the gauntlet to her traducers. M. Edouard
Fournier says :

On a day of uncertain date, in a place no better known,
since it is impossible to say whether it was Guyenne,
Languedoc, or Provence, a girl was baptised with the

1 Histotre de la vie et des ouvrages de Moliere by J. Taschereau.

ARMANDE BEJART 141

name of Armande Gresinde Claire Elisabeth. She was
born in the Bejart family. Who was her mother?1

Were it not for slander, the answer to M. Four-
nier's question would be Marie Herve ; for, in re-
nouncing the inheritance of her husband's debts on the
tenth of June, 1643, ^is woman named, in addition to
her four elder children, " a little one not yet baptised " ;
furthermore, the marriage contract signed by Moliere
and Armande Bejart on January twenty-third and the
marriage act entered in the parish register of the church
of St. Germain 1'Auxerrois, February twentieth, 1662,
both state distinctly that the bride was the daughter of
Marie Herve and her husband, the defunct Joseph
Bejart ; so the logical supposition is that Armande was
this unbaptised little one.2

Alas, calumny has done its utmost to controvert the
truth of this, the most reasonable of all theories regard-
ing Armande's parentage ! For instance, our old friend,
the anonymous author of The Famous Comedienne y in-
sists that " Moliere' s wife was the child of Madeleine
Bejart, a country actress, who was the pastime of a num-
ber of young men of Languedoc at the fortunate time of
her daughter's birth," and further adds that "it would
be difficult to tell exactly who her father was ; for,
although Moliere married her, she was believed to be
his daughter."

1 Le Roman de Moliere.

2 The marriage act was discovered by L.-F. Befrara, and published
in 1821 in his Dissertation sur J.-B. Poquelin Moliere. The marriage
contract was first published in 1863 by M. Eudore Soulie (Recbercbes
stir Moliere}. To these two archaeologists and M. A. Jal (Documents
sur Moliere et safamillet 1867) is due the preservation in text of inval-
uable documents concerning Moliere, many of the originals of which
were destroyed by the Communists in 1871.

i42 MOLIERE

Even this vilifier admits that " the truth of this is not
fully known," and his (or her) base insinuations would
have gained no credence had not Racine in a letter to
the Abbe le Vasseur stated that a jealous actor named
Montfleury was so enraged by Moliere's ridicule that he
sought to undermine him at court. " Montfleury has
drawn up a charge against Moliere," are Racine's words,
"and has presented it to the King. He accuses him
of having married the daughter after having loved the
mother," and adds, " but Montfleury is not listened to
at court." Boileau, too, is quoted as having said that
Moliere's first love was Madeleine Bejart, "whose
daughter he married," l and Grimarest, writing from
hearsay, maintains that Armande was the daughter of
La Bejart, "who preferred being Moliere's mistress to
being his mother-in-law."

Boulanger de Chalussay repeats the calumny of 'The
Famous Comedienne in words which will not bear trans-
lation ; but an intendant of the King's brother, named
Guichard, who attempted to discredit the testimony of
Moliere's widow in a suit at law by calling her " the
daughter of her husband and wife of her father," was
condemned to make honourable apology with bared
head and bended knee; so it is evident that the charge
of incest, at least, was incapable of proof; and this is the
view of all Moliere's biographers. The majority, how-
ever, accept the theory of Armande's illegitimacy. Even
when Beffara unearthed the marriage act wherein she
appears as Marie Herve's daughter, M. A. Bazin2 was
equal to the occasion. Because " it was necessary to

1 MS. Notes of Brossette in the Blbliottoque nationale. Notice blo-
grapbique sur Moliere by Paul Mesnard.
8 Notes bistoriques sur la vie de Moliere.

ARMANDE BEJART 143

offer Moliere's father and brother-in-law a daughter and
sister for whom they need not blush too deeply," he
argues that " the widow of Bejart, senior, consented to
declare herself the mother, and her late husband the
father, of the child born in 1645 (sic)"

To accuse a man able to brighten rather than tarnish
his family name, together with all his wife's relatives, of
forgery for the mere purpose of appeasing a father's
pride, seems preposterous enough ; but M. Edouard
Fournier1 plays even greater havoc with probability
by imputing the supposed falsification to Madeleine's
anxiety to hide the birth of her child from the Baron de
Modene. If she could convince him of her fidelity,
urges this writer, he would honour her with his hand
in marriage.

Modene being married already, Madeleine could
scarcely expect he would resort to uxoricide, or even
bigamy, for her sake ; and the contention of M. Jules
Loiseleur2 seems equally hazy. After admitting that
Armande Bejart's age of " twenty or thereabouts," re-
corded in the marriage contract, coincides with that of
the " little one not yet baptised," this writer considers
the maternity of Marie Herve — a woman supposedly
fifty -three at the time of her husband's death — wholly
preposterous.

Marie Herve's death certificate does give her age as
eighty ; but the witnesses were her son-in-law and
youngest son — of all her family the least likely to be
familiar with the date of her birth, whereas the Abbe
Dufour3 cites good evidence to show that, on the tomb

1 Le Roman de Mo Here.

2 Les Points obseurs de la vie de Moliere*
8 Le Molierhte, May, 1883.

i44 MOLIERE

Madeleine erected to her mother's memory, the following
epitaph was inscribed :

Here lies the body of Marie Herve, widow of the honourable
man, Joseph Bejart, deceased the ninth of January, 1670, aged
seventy-five.1

It is highly improbable that Madeleine inscribed a
lie upon her mother's tomb ; so, instead of being fifty-
three at the time of Armande's birth, Marie Herve was
barely forty-eight. Her fecundity, though unusual, was
wholly within the range of possibility.

An explanation of the supposed falsification of court
records more reasonable than any yet advanced is that
Marie Herve's assumption of parentage was for the pur-
pose of deceiving Moliere himself. That Madeleine
should wish to hide her shame from a stage struck

youth until she had succeeded in alienating him from
his family, is certainly conceivable ; and were this the
case, to oppose her daughter's marriage with her former
lover would have been her most natural course. Accord-
ing to Grimarest, this is precisely what happened :

La Bejart suspected his intentions toward Armande,
and often threatened violence to Moliere, her daughter,
and herself should he dare dream of this marriage.
However, this passion of a mother, who tormented her
continually and made her endure all the vexations she
could invent, did not suit the young girl. Feeling she
would rather try the pleasures of being a wife than sup-
port the displeasure of her mother, this young person
decided one morning to burst into Moliere's apartment,

1 M. Gustave Larroumet, writing in the Molieriste of October, 1886,
calls attention to an error of the Abbe Dufour, — Marie Herve's age
being given as sevetity-tbree, not seventy-Jjve, in this epitaph.

Armancle Bejart and Moliere

ARMANDE BEJART 145

firmly resolved not to leave until he had recognised her
as his wife. This he was forced to do ; but the outcome
caused a terrible hubbub : the mother showed as much
sign of rage and despair as if Moliere had married her
rival, or her daughter had fallen into the hands of a
blackguard.

If the poet was kept in ignorance of his wife's true
parentage, Madeleine's attitude, here described, becomes
most reasonable ; but there is danger that this new
theory may arouse still another hornet's nest. Indeed,
opposed to Grimarest's testimony is that of the author
of The Famous Comedienne, who assures us that —

Madeleine prepared and concluded the marriage by a
series of patient and tortuous intrigues, her object being
to recover, through Armande, the influence over Moliere
of which Mile, de Brie had deprived her.

An elaborate chain of documentary evidence, covering
a period longer than thirty years, points to Armande
Bej art's legitimacy. Besides the marriage contract and
the marriage act already mentioned, a power of attorney
given by the heirs of Marie Herve to Madeleine Bejart ;
Madeleine's will ; a power of attorney from Moliere to
his wife ; the marriage contract between Genevieve Bejart
and J. B. Aubry ; the plea of Armande to the archbishop
of Paris for permission to inter Moliere ; an income
settlement by the heirs of Madeleine Bejart; a contract
between Moliere's widow and the wardens of the church
of St. Paul ; the letters ratifying this contract ; and the
marriage contract between J. F. Guerin and Armande
Bejart herself, — all present Moliere's wife most un-
equivocally as being Marie Herve's daughter.

Madeleine's will is a document containing particularly

146 MOLIERE

strong testimony in favour of Armande's legitimacy ; for
La Bejart was of sound mind when she drew her last
testament (January ninth, 1672), and it is difficult to
believe that, had Armande been her daughter, she would
have sworn to a lie upon her death-bed. Moreover, the
codicil to this will, drawn but three days before Made-
leine's death, is further evidence that, were Armande
her daughter, she was facing death with this lie upon
her lips.

Such evidence would certainly be sufficient to close
the case, did not the testimony of Montfleury and Boi-
leau remain in rebuttal. But the defender of Moliere's
character has a seventeenth-century witness, too, — the
King, — to whom the infamous charge was made. Un-
doubtedly there was much verisimilitude in Montfleury 's
contention. After thirteen years of absence Madeleine,
known to have borne one illegitimate child, returned to
Paris accompanied by Armande Bejart, corresponding
very nearly in age with her daughter, Fran9oise, bap-
tised in 1638 ; and, by drawing the conclusion that the
two were the same, Moliere might, with much semblance
to truth, be accused of " having married the daughter
after having loved the mother." First, to convince
his monarch of the falsity of this charge, then to re-
main silent in the face of slander, would have been his
most dignified course; and the King's conduct is evi-
dence that such was the case. Louis . became the god-
father of Moliere's first child.1 In no other way could

1 Louis, Moliere's eldest son, born January nineteenth, baptised Feb-
ruary twenty-eighth, died November tenth, 1664. Moliere had two
other children, Esprit Madeleine (who alone survived him), baptised
August fourth, 1665, and Pierre Jean Baptiste, born September fifteenth,
baptised October first, died October tenth, 1672.

ARMANDE BEJART 147

he more effectually give the lie to all the slanders of
Montfleury.

La Grange records that "the wedding [manage] of
M. de Moliere took place after a performance at Mon-
sieur d'Equeuilly's," or, in other words, at night, — a
time when the churches were deserted. As but one ban,
instead of the habitual three, was published, it is argued
that in order to hide the base origin of the bride the
ceremony was clandestine. La Grange's entry, however,
was made on Tuesday, February fourteenth, while pre-
viously he says that " M. de Moliere married Armande
Claire Elisabeth Gresinde Bejard (sic) on Shrove Tues-
day, 1662." Shrove Tuesday fell upon February
twenty-first, and the parish register of the church of St.
Germain TAuxerrois gives Monday, February twentieth,
as the date of the religious ceremony, which M. Jal, a
most careful archaeologist, maintains took place in the
morning. The suppression of the bans being purely a
question of a fee, with that fact the argument of secrecy
vanishes.

As only kinsfolk witnessed the marriage contract, the
wedding itself was, in all probability, a family affair ; and
if the word mariage in La Grange's Register was used in
the sense of noce, the entertainment after the performance
at Monsieur d'Equeuilly's was probably some prenuptial
affair in honour of the groom's theatrical comrades. So
far as La Grange is concerned, this was the " wedding of
M. de Moliere " ; consequently his confusion of Monday
with Tuesday in recording a ceremony he did not attend
becomes a trivial error.

A cash dowry of ten thousand livres, given Armande
by Marie Herve, is still another bone of contention.
Where, it is argued, could a widow who inherited nothing

148 MOLIERE

but debts have obtained such a sum, especially as Gene-
vieve Bejart received but four thousand livres, mostly in
chattels, at the time of her marriage ; and since Made-
leine favoured Moliere's daughter in her will, she must
have given the dowry, too, and was therefore Armande's
mother. It is equally apparent that Moliere might have
used Marie Herve as a means of presenting his wife
with an independent fortune ; so the affair of the dowry
might be dismissed entirely, were it not for the baptismal
certificate of Moliere's second child. This infant was
christened Esprit-Magdeleyne (sic) — a union of La
Bejart's name with that of her first protector, the
Baron Esprit Remond de Modene ; and, moreover, that
very nobleman stood sponsor with Madeleine at the
ceremony.

If this pair of ci-devant lovers were the child's grand-
parents, this joint sponsorship becomes comprehensible ;
indeed, it is difficult to find any other explanation. Of
all the evidence cited by Armande's traducers, this is
certainly the most damning, yet it is purely circumstantial,
be it remembered. It is still possible to believe that
Madeleine and Modene, having reached the age when
passion's fires were only smouldering embers, thus offi-
ciated together in order to keep alive the memory of
their own dead child. " On revient toujours a ses
premiers amours," is the French proverb. Shall it not
be applied in this instance?

Perhaps, as M. Loiseleur says, " A veil no hand
will ever raise hides the origin of the young woman
whom Moliere married on the twentieth of February,
I662";1 but no amount of surmise or slander can
completely break that chain of documentary evidence
1 Les Points obscurs de la vie de Moliere.

ARMANDE BEJART 149.

beginning with Marie Herve's renunciation of her hus-
band's inheritance in the name of the " little one not
yet baptised," and ending with Armande Bejart's second
marriage contract. If Armande was not Marie Herve's
daughter, then Moliere, his wife, and all her family must
be classed together as forgers ; and he, the greatest
literary genius in France, the friend of the King, be
accused either of the most abject of crimes, or of an
utter disregard of common decency. His philosophy
was certainly too pure, his ideals too exalted, for him
to have been the vile man his enemies and unwitting J
friends portray.

A more agreeable mystery concerns the identity of the
young person to whom Chapelle, in the undated letter
already quoted,1 referred to in an injunction regarding
some sentimental verses which accompanied his Olym-
pian satire. " You will show these beautiful verses only
to Mile. Menou" he says to Moliere, " for they are the
description of you and her."

Chapelle, of course, may have made mention of some
unknown enchantress ; still it is more reasonable to pre-
sume that Menou was the stage name of Armande Bejart
before she was known as Mile, de Moliere. At a time
(1653) when Moliere's wife was only ten, the part of
Ephyra in Corneille's Andromeda was allotted to a Mile.
Menou;2 yet a nereid with four lines to speak might
readily have been played by a child. Although M.
Baluffe3 unearths a distant connexion of Chapelle's
named Mathieu de Menou who possibly had a daugh-
ter, it is far more likely that Chapelle's injunction re-
ferred to Armande Bejart. His letter was probably
written (1659) at a moment when Moliere's love for his

1 See page 137. 2 See page 47. 8 Moliere inconnu.

150 MOLIERE

ward was turning his thoughts toward matrimony ; so an
affair with another young person was an unlikely occur-
rence, and there is no record of any actress of the
name Menou having appeared in Paris ; so the Ephyra
of Andromeda as well as the lady of the verses was, in all
probability, Armande Bejart.

The date of this lady's Parisian debut is another
unsolved mystery. La Grange, silent regarding her ad-
vent, mentions her as a member of the company in June,
1662; but the first role she is known with certainty to
have filled is that of Elise in 'The Criticism of The School
for Wives (La Critique de VEcole des femmes}.

About her character and appearance no such doubt
exists. A verbal portrait, attributed to Mile. Poisson,1
says that " she had a mediocre figure ; but her manner
was engaging, although her eyes were small, and her
mouth large and flat. She did everything well, however,
even to the smallest things, although she dressed most
extraordinarily, in a manner always opposed to the
fashion of the times." " She was full of charm and
talent," says M. Genin,2"and sang French and Italian
delightfully. Being an excellent actress who knew how
to take the stage even when only playing the listener,
she was an incorrigible flirt as well, and the despair of
Moliere, who loved her distractedly to his dying day."
Her bitter enemy, the author of The Famous Comedienne ',
while denying her beautiful features, is forced to admit
that " her appearance and manners rendered her ex-
tremely amiable in the opinion of many people," and
that she was " very affecting when she wished to please."

1 Lettre sur la vie et Jes ouvrages de Moltere. See note, page 8 1 .

2 Lexique compare de la langue de Moliere et des ecrivains du XV11*
siecle.

ARMANDE BEJART 151

" No one," according to the Brothers Parfaict,1 " knew
better than she how to heighten the beauty of her face by
the arrangement of her hair, or of her figure by the cut
of her costume " ; while a writer in the Mercure galant
(1673) bears out Mile. Poisson's testimony regarding the
eccentricity of her dress by ascribing to Armande Bejart
a radical reform in the fashion of the day, whereby the
waist line, heretofore concealed, "was made to appear
more beautiful."

Perhaps the best description of his wife's charms and
his own feelings regarding her is given by Moliere him-
self. In a scene of The Burgher, a Gentleman , Cleonte,
a lover, and Covielle, his valet, discuss Lucile, the
character played by Armande Bejart in the following
manner :

COVIELLE

You might find a hundred girls more worthy of you. In the
first place, she has small eyes.

CLEONTE

True, she has small eyes, but they are full of fire and the
most brilliant, the most piercing, the most sympathetic eyes it is
possible to find.

COVIELLE
She has a large mouth.

CLEONTE

Yes, but one finds there charms one does not find in other
mouths. The very sight of that mouth is enough to create
desire : it is the loveliest, the most lovable mouth in the
world.

COVIELLE

As for her figure, she is not tall.

1 Histoire du theatre fr an $ai*.

152 MOLIERE

CLEONTE
No, but she is graceful and well made.

COVIELLE
She affects indifference in speech and manner.

CLEONTE

Quite true ; but it is all delightful, and I can't describe the
charming way in which she ingratiates herself into people's
hearts.

COVIELLE
As for her wit —

CLEONTE

Ah ! that she has, Covielle — the keenest and the most
delicate.

COVIELLE

Her conversation —

CLEONTE
Her conversation is charming.

COVIELLE
It is always serious.

CLEONTE

Do you want bubbling mirth and unrestrained hilarity ? Is
there anything more tiresome than women who laugh at
everything ?

COVIELLE

Well, at least, she is the most capricious person in the world.

CLEONTE

Yes, she is capricious, I quite agree ; but everything becomes
beautiful women. One suffers everything from beautiful
women.

None knew better than Moliere the meaning of those
words, " One suffers everything from beautiful women."

ARMANDE BEJART 153

It was the key-note of his married life. No man has
written his heart more truly than he : sometimes in a
lamentation like the above ; sometimes in a prophecy, as
when, in Don Garcia of Navarre, he wrote :

No marriage could join us ; I hate too well
Bonds that for both must prove a living hell.

Moliere's marriage was, if not a hell, certainly a purga-
tory ; yet how could a union between a man of forty with
emotional nerves, and a young, frivolous girl who lived
for admiration and flattery, prove different ?

The summer following the wedding was passed at St.
Germain. Doubtless before the honeymoon had waned,
Armande began to show her leopard spots. Having
taken the centre of the stage from her three rivals, to
waste her charms upon so humdrum a thing as a
husband was not in her nature ; and being in the region
of fine gentlemen, there were means at hand to practise
the arts so aptly described by M. Fournier:

By means of her airs and graces, her nonchalance,
and her bewitching glances, Armande took in only too
many people and listened to too many of the exalted
rakes who haunt court antechambers in the morning and
theatres in the evening, merely to boast of their con-
quests to the entire town. Our poet soon learned that
the lot of Sganarelle was to be his own, and that the
dying Scarron had predicted truly, in 1660, when he
bequeathed, in his burlesque will : " To Moliere,
cuckoldom."

The reader may think he got his deserts ; but love is
not a thing to be calendared, nor are great natures likely
to prove the most discerning. Though open to the

1 Le Roman de Moliere.

154 MOLIERE

charge of fickleness, Moliere need only be compared
with Shakespeare, Byron, or Shelley, to be acquitted of
any crime more serious than that of being a genius ; for
no man is able to think the thoughts of all mankind
until his hand has touched all human chords. He
loved without the church's benediction in his youth,
and with a hapless marriage paid the penalty. Blame
him, if you like ; yet when the young blood sings in a
pretty woman's veins, even a stronger man than a genius
will listen.

A word of justice, too, for Madeleine Bejart, that
nymph of forty-three, who spoke the prologue to her
heartless sister's happiness. Four years Moliere's senior,
her love for him was almost maternal ; and throughout
her life she bore upon her shoulders those material
cares so irksome to a man of genius. He would doubt-
less have written his masterpieces without her inspira-
tion and help ; but, as M. Loiseleur truly says, "He
would not have written them so soon, nor so rapidly,
nor would they have sparkled so delightfully with wit,
spirit, and liberality."

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 155

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES AND ITS
COROLLARIES

SCARAMOUCHE was now tenant instead of landlord, and
the troupe of the Hotel de Bourgogne rapidly losing
prestige ; for in May^i662, Moliere's players were
commanded by the King to St. Germain-en-Laye, while
their rivals were left without the royal pale.

The court was dangerous ground for a bride of
Armande Bejart's temperament; but her husband had
proclaimed that " locks and bars do not make the virtue
of our wives or daughters/' so in taking her to this
region of "balls, amusements, plays, and fine society,"
he merely practised his own doctrines. Though the
world might be "a better school than any pedant's
book " for the Leo nor of his School for Husbands ^ he was
soon to learn that for a young woman as vain as his wife
it was merely a playground.

The sojourn at St. Germain was well requited from
the privy purse, but the famous tournament in honour
of the dauphin's birth which gave the court between the
Louvre and Tuileries the name of " Place du Carrousel "
proved a dangerous competitor. The pavilions, cos-
tumes, booths, and tilt-yards for this pageant cost the
King a million or more ; but so valiantly did his cour-
tiers cut the Turk's head — it might have been some
fire-spitting dragon — that he got his regal money's

156 MOLIERE

worth ; the more so when he caracoled before the noblest
Romans of his court in a glittering international quad-
rille, wherein Monsieur led Persian warriors ; the great
Conde, fierce turbaned Turks ; the Due d' Enghien, a
band of rajahs, and De Guise, a tribe of whooping
savages.

No comedy could vie with such a spectacle, so Moliere
closed his theatre on the tournament days (June 5-6) ;
but Louis soon made amends by again summoning him
to St. Germain, where he remained six weeks and re-
ceived a honorarium of fourteen thousand livres. This
caused La Grange to remark that " the King believed
there were but fourteen parts, while the troupe was of
fifteen"; but two actors from the Theatre du Marais
had lately joined the company, so his Majesty's mistake
seems pardonable.

The new-comers were La Thorilliere and De Brecourt,
comedians with the common characteristic of being medi-
ocre play-wrights, but of very different parts ; since the
former, though at one time a captain of infantry, was a
genial, peaceable fellow, while the latter was a veritable
bretteur who once fled the country for killing a cabman,
— a crime the reader familiar with the Parisian genus
will be likely to condone.1

1 Cleopatra, a tragedy by La Thorilliere, was played by Moliere' s
troupe, December second, 1667; De Brecourt's comedy, The Great
Booby of a Son as Foolish as bis Father (Le grand benet de fls aussi sot
que son pirt}, is attributed by the Brothers Parfaict, in their Histoire du
theatre fran$ais, to Moliere himself, and consequently has been often
cited among the lost one-act canevas of his barn-storming days. On
January seventeenth, 1664, however (a fact unknown to the Brothers
Parfaict), La Grange chronicles the first performance of this play as a
"new piece of M. de Brecourt," and on February first, third, and
fifth of that same year, states that it was the only comedy presented at

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 157

After the six weeks spent at St. Germain, La Grange
records that " the queen-mother summoned the come-
dians of the Hotel de Bourgogne, who had begged her
to procure them the favour of serving the King — the
troupe of Moliere having made them most envious."
However, as these rivals had a royal subvention of
twelve thousand livres and his own players but an unpaid
pension, Moliere could not permit even court grass to
grow under his feet ; so before his honeymoon had waned
a new play was put upon the stocks. His own marriage
being still paramount in his mind, he again chose the
theme of a jealous guardian's love for a girl of " twenty
or thereabouts," but his new school was, in name at
least, for wives instead of husbands.

The School for Husbands contained two brothers of
diverging views bent upon marrying wards of differing
character; in The School for Wives (UEcole des femmes), its
companion piece, benign Ariste and high-minded Leonor
are eliminated. Sganarelle, too, becomes a pedantic
moralist named Arnolphe ; but so similar is this charac-
ter in disposition to1 his predecessor that one wonders at
the change of name. Sganarelle's theory of preserving
marital honour by keeping a wife behind closed doors
gives place, however, to the belief that ignorance is a
woman's safeguard, — a doctrine which forms the motive
of the play.

The opening scene strikes the key-note, for at the
very outset Arnolphe, "a railer o'er the cuckold's horns
of others," announces that he will prevent their appear-

the Palais Royal ; so it could not have been a one-act piece, nor could
it have been written by Moliere. Another piece by De Brecourt, The
Shade of Moliere (L? Ombre de Moliere y 1674), nas ^een several times
printed as an after-piece to the poet's works.

158 MOLlfiRE

ance on his own head by wedding a fool. When the
soundness of this principle is doubted by his sceptical
friend, Chrysalde, he defends it warmly in the following
tirade against clever women :

I wed a fool lest I become a fool :

Your better half is wise, I hold as any

Christian ; and yet the cleverest wives are signs

Of evil, and I know the price that some

Must pay for choosing those who 're far too bright.

What ! charge myself with some o'er brilliant jade

Who '11 talk unceasingly of routs and clubs,

Or write soft sentiments in prose and verse

For swarming wits and dandies to admire !

And have me known, forsooth, as madam's mate, —

A saint benighted none will reverence ?

No, no ! I wish no goodly wit in mine :

A wife who writes knows more than woman should,

And mine, I hold, shall know not what it is

To rhyme ; and if at cor billon she plays,

I wish her to reply, "Just one cream tart,"

When in her turn she 's asked just what it is

She '11 offer to the basket.1 Well, in brief,

I wish her to be ignorant ; and hold

It is enough that she should tell the truth,

And loving me, sew, spin, and say her prayers.

For his experiment Arnolphe has chosen Agnes, a girl
he loved at the age of four " above all other children"
because of her " sweet, sedate manner." Believing her
to be the daughter of a peasant woman " glad to be rid
of her," he has educated her to be his wife in a manner
best explained in his own words :

1 Corbillon, meaning literally " a little basket," was a fashionable
game of the period, similar to crambo, wherein a player was obliged to
reply, by a word rhyming in on to the question Que met-on dam man
cor billon ?

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 159

From turmoil far, within a convent's quiet,

They reared her closely, following my views —

One way of saying that each rule laid down

Was meant to make an idiot of her.

Wherefore, may God be praised ! success has crowned

My work ; and now, full-grown, she has become

So innocent, I bless the saints who showed

Me how to mould a wife unto my taste.

Upon the completion of this education in nescience,
Agnes is confided to the care of two venal servants, who,
in spite of assurances that the " sparrow shall not go out
for fear of the cat," permit a fair-haired gallant to bribe
his way into the cage. When the play begins, Arnolphe
is unaware of this intrigue ; and in order to conceal the
identity of his pompous hero from the disturber of
his happiness, Moliere employs a dramatic expedient
unworthy his craftsmanship, introduced in the shape of
an inordinately snobbish desire on Arnolphe's part to be
called Monsieur de la Souche (literally Mr. Blockhead),
— an affectation made light of by Chrysalde in the retort
that he " once knew a peasant who dug a muddy ditch
around his quarter acre and thereafter called himself
Monsieur de 1'Isle." l

Having thus set forth his matrimonial doctrines and
distaste for his patronymic in the opening scene, Ar-
nolphe immediately reassures himself of the dutifulness
and safety of his beloved Agnes, and soon thereafter
meets his rival face to face. Discovering that this young

1 This incident has given rise to considerable controversy whether
Chrysalde* s retort was not intended to ridicule the name, Corneille de
PIsle, by which Thomas Corneille, the mediocre brother of the great
poet, was then known. A contemporary writer, the Abbe d'Aubignac
(1663), first called attention to this apparent satire of a rival.

160 MOLIERE

spark, Horace by name, is the son of his bosom friend
Oronte, he lends him a hundred pistoles to abet a love
affair ; whereupon the grateful youth, unaware, of course,
that Monsieur de la Souche, the "rich old fool" who
keeps his adored one in total ignorance of the world, is
the man to whom he is speaking, tells him her name,
with an effect upon Arnolphe's wrath easy to conceive.
Careful not to betray himself to Horace, outraged
Arnolphe upbraids innocent Agnes for her treachery ?
but receives a confession so ingenuous and frank that,
more alarmed for her safety than mollified by her expla-
nation, he resolves to marry her forthwith. Hastening
to arrange the wedding, he again meets Horace, who in-
forms him that Agnes has closed her door in his face and
thrown a stone at him ; but the joy of this news is
quickly abated by the discovery that around it was
wrapped a billet doux. Plunged once more into fury
and despair, Arnolphe plots revenge, rushes to the
girl they love in common, only to interrupt a ren-
dezvous — his rival eluding him by jumping from a
balcony.

In the resulting confusion Agnes escapes to her lover's
arms; but with an obtuseness worthy of Lelie the
blunderer, he confides her to Arnolphe's care, thereby
making possible the climax, wherein the latter upbraids
his false affianced bride, then pleads in vain for her
love.

Arnolphe has been heretofore a pedantic taskmaster,
yet when he confronts the truly feminine " little serpent
he has warmed in his bosom," and learns that despite his
teachings she has discovered that " love is full of joy,"
he becomes a man of impulse, sentiment, and passion ;
witness the following lines :

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 161

ARNOLPHE
Why don't you love me, Madam Impudence ?

AGNES

Good heavens, I am not the one to blame :
Why didn't you, as he did, make me love ?
For surely, I have never hindered you.

ARNOLPHE

I 've tried by every means within my power ;
But all my efforts are in vain — all lost !

AGNES

Indeed, he knows more of that art than you,
Since teaching me to love required no pains.

But the girl relents sufficiently to exclaim that from the
bottom of her heart she wishes to please him, and asks
what it would cost her to succeed. Arnolphe's answer
is worthy a less pragmatic lover; indeed, it turns the
interest to him, and strikes so strong a note of sympathy
that this comedy is raised at once to a higher level than
any Moliere had yet reached :

Pray leave this fellow with the love he brings

And all the spell some mystic charm exerts ;

For happier with me a hundred times

You '11 be. Your wish is to be wise, arrayed

Full richly ? Both are yours, I swear ! By night,

By day, I '11 worship you, and close within

My arms enfold and kiss you, with my love

Devour you — every whim of yours shaH be

My law — I can't explain, for all is said.

(Aside) Such passion leads to what extremities !

( To Agnes) No love approaches mine. Demand what proof

You will, ungrateful girl ! Can streaming cheeks,

162 MOLIERE

Or bruised back, or half my locks out-torn,
Or death itself bring satisfaction ? Speak,
Most cruel one ; I 'm ready all to dare
And all to do, that I may prove my love !

Yet, woman-like, Agnes prefers her blond lover, so this
appeal falls on deaf ears. Arnolphe is dismissed with
the admonition that "two of Horace's words are worth,
all his own dissertations," and but for the timely arrival
of a pair of fathers — the long lost parents of Agnes
and Horace, respectively — his just anger might have
consigned the cruel minx to " the inmost cell of a

convent."

The assertion of these progenitors that their offspring
have been betrothed since infancy brings the play to a
happy conclusion for all save the disconsolate hero ;
but even to accomplish this cheerful result, Moliere
seems hardly justified in burdening his work with these
time-hallowed fathers of classic comedy, — a fault which
causes Voltaire to exclaim that "in The School for Wives
the denouement is quite as artificial as it was skilful in
The School for Husbands ! " *

In conception this play is even less original ; for the
story of a lover who makes a confidant of his rival,
besides occurring in The Jocular Nights (Piacevoli notte\
by Straparola, has been traced through preceding Italian
and classical authors, even to Herodotus ; while a novel
by Scarron — itself filched from a Spanish source —
called The Useless Precaution (La Precaution inutile}, con-
tains a character resolved not to wed unless he can find
" a wife enough of an idiot to prevent fear of the evil
tricks which clever women play their husbands." Still

1 Vie de Mol&re, avec des jugtments sur ses outrages.

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 163

to fertilise a sterile subject until consummate flowers
spring forth is a triumph of genius.

Though its subject may not be original, for all that it
is inferior technically to The School for Husbands, the
verses of this sprightly comedy certainly "do not give
advantage to stubborn critics/' In fact, Voltaire assures
us that " connoisseurs admired the dexterity with which
Moliere was able to interest and please throughout five
acts, solely by Horace's confidence in an old man, told
in simple speeches." He might have added that this
dexterity lay in making simple speeches present exalted
sentiments in a musical flow of words ; for never before
had Moliere shown such depth of feeling. Indeed, in the
human scene between Arnolphe and Agnes, The School
for Wives passes far beyond the foot-hills, almost to the
noble heights, of tragedy.

Itjs-Jnasterful also in characterisation ; for although
Ariste, the altruist, is lacking, Chrysalde, the man of the
world, is an equally true and far more practical philoso-
pher ; while both Arnolphe and Agnes, drawn with a
firmer hand than Sganarelle and Isabelle, are conceived in
closer accordance with present day ideas. Few modern
lovers would uphold Sganarelle's doctrine of locks and
keys, but Arnolphe's dream of innocence is shared by
many. As M. Louis Moland aptly says, "the germ of
him is in every old bachelor." *

Like its companion piece, it deals with the problem of
an elderly man's love for a young girl, the problem of
its author's own life, The School for Husbands was pro-
duced, be it remembered, nine months before Moliere's
marriage, whereas The School for Wives was presented
ten months thereafter, — a divergence in time sufficient to
1 Vie de J.-B. P. Moliere.

164 MOLlfiRE

justify the conclusion that Arista's optimism expresses
a bridegroom's hopes, Chrysalde's cynicism a husband's
experience. For instance, when Arnolphe, fearful of
wearing horns, ridicules his friend's theory that "when
you don't get the wife you want, like a gambler, you
should mend your luck by good management," that
imperturbable philosopher replies :

You scoff, my frfend, but candidly I know

A hundred ills in this world of mishap

Greater than the dire accident you dread.

Do you not think, that were I free to choose,

I 'd rather be the thing you fear than married

To an upright wife, whose temper makes a storm

Grow out of nothing ? one of those pure fiends,

Those virtue-dragons fortified around

By spotless deeds, who, owing to the wrong

They have not done to us, unto themselves

Would arrogate the right to domineer ;

Who, since they 're faithful, ask we shall forgive

Most meekly every pitiful defect

And all endure ? One parting shot, good friend :

The plight of cuckoldom is what we make

It be ; in some ways much to be desired :

Like all else in this world, it has its joys.

The husband of a coquette might find considerable
solace in this stoical reasoning. Indeed, throughout the
play there is such an undertone of dread for the catas-
trophe Chrysalde thus makes light of, that one is tempted
to read between the lines the story of the author's own
fears. Usually this takes the form of cynicism ; but
sometimes it becomes broad humour, as when Alain,
the servant, exclaims :

In truth, a woman is a husband's pottage,
And when a husband sees that other men

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 165

Would like to dip their fingers in his soup,
Immediately his anger waxes hot.

Since the optimistic School for Husbands was penned,
Moliere had certainly experienced a change of sentiment ;
for the Utopian theories of amiable Ariste give place to
raillery as sceptical as this :

I know the artful tricks, the subtle plots,
Which women use to leave us in the lurch ;
And how they dupe us by their cleverness.

To interpret this passage as the plaint of a man to whom
marital experience has taught the ways of women is not
difficult ; while the following lines from one of Arnolphe's
all too frequent soliloquies might equally be said to
express Moliere's feeling whenever courtiers made un-
hallowed love to his young wife during that honeymoon
at St. Germain. Certainly the period of thirteen years
coincides with the time the poet wandered through the
South of France and Armande Bejart was his ward :

What ! supervise her training with such care,
Moreover cherish her within my house
For thirteen years, while every day my heart
Beats faster to her growing girlish charm,
And meantime she is pampered as my own,
In order, now, that in this very hour
When we are fully half as good as wed,
A coxcomb whom she fascinates shall pluck
Her slyly from beneath my bearded lip ?
No, by the heavens, no ! ...

But the depth of Moliere's passion for his vain, unfeel-
ing wife can best be traced in the scene between Agnes
and Arnolphe, when, thus unconsciously, his own heart
is laid bare :

166 MOLIERE

ARNOLPHE

(Aside) That word disarms my wrath ; that look recalls

Unto my heart sufficient tenderness

To blot out all the blackness of her guilt.

How strange is love ! To think that sober men

Should stoop to folly for such renegades

When all the world must see their faults. 'T is base

Extravagance, indeed, and rashness wild,

For wicked are their brains and weak their hearts,

And nothing stupider could be, or more

Disloyal, naught more frail ; yet, in despite,

The world moves solely for these little brutes !

( To Agnti) Peace be it then, and pardon take for all !

Go, traitress, go ; I give thee back affection:

Thus by the love I bear thee, learn my love,

And seeing me kind, love me in revenge.

There is danger, of course, that, in this quest for
introspective passages, caution may be outweighed by
zeal ; still, so vain a bride as Armande Bejart could not
long restrain her coquetry in the atmosphere in which
her honeymoon was passed, nor could her doting hus-
band long remain blind to the ways of libertine ad-
mirers ; so the conclusion that the many touching
strophes of this comedy set forth the trials and sorrows
.of the poet's heart seems amply justified. Indeed, no-
where, save in The Misanthrope^ did he so clearly sing
the misery of his soul ; and it is perhaps this very sub-
jectivity which makes The School for Wives the greatest
of his Gallic plays.

Although national in spirit, this comedy was in a way
a militant play ; yet now that the tornado of abuse
which burst upon Moliere after its first performance has
long subsided, it is difficult to realise how even the
pharisees of that day could have found in its sprightly

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 167

mirth sufficient heresy to declare him the enemy of both
common decency and Holy Church ; yet such was the
case.

Chrysalde's defence of wifely indiscretion was de-
nounced as an attack upon marital ethics ; a scene
wherein Arnolphe instructs the innocent heroine in wifely
duties and threatens her with " boiling caldrons " should
she fail in circumspection, was held to be^ a travesty upon
pulpit homilies. Furthermore, the eleven Maxims of t
Marriage ; or, Duties of a Married Woman, together with
her Daily Practice, compiled by Arnolphe for the in-
struction of his bride elect and read aloud by Her, were
anathematised as a base parody of the catechism. Two
of these harmless precepts, freely translated, should es-
tablish the creed-bound acrimony of Moliere's enemies :

MAXIM III

Far from duty is sly glancing,
Likewise rouges and pomade.
Learn the thousand drugs entrancing,
By which blushing tints are made,
Mortal poisons are to honour,
Since the powder, paint, and scent
Every false wife puts upon her
Seldom for her liege are meant.

MAXIM IV

She 's honour bound, 'neath coif sedate,
To stifle glances soft and low,
Since sworn to please her lawful mate
'T is wrong for her to please a beau.

Among the most scandalised religionists was the
Prince de Conti, the erstwhile rake whose sanctimonious
zeal condemned his former schoolmate's comedy " as a

i68 MOLIERE

licentious work offending good manners";1 still, this
skirmish with bigotry was only preliminary to the five
years' war Moliere soon waged against both Jansenists
and Jesuits in behalf of his masterpiece, The Hypocrite.

Impiety proved so strong a drawing card that I'he
SchooTfor Wives became the greatest stage success of its
author's career. Between its production in Christmas
week, 1662, and the Easter holidays, it was presented at
the Palais Royal thirty-one times, — a run made even
more phenomenal by the fact that the receipts exceeded
a thousand livres at each of fourteen of these perform-
ances, whereas during the entire four years Moliere had
been in Paris that mark had been reached only twelve
times, all told.

De Vize's statement that " all the world found The
School for Wives wicked, and all the world ran to see it,"1
shows the part sensation played in this triumph ; for what
result other than success could be attained by a play that
" the ladies condemned, but went to see " ? " For my
part," this writer adds, " I hold it the most mischievous
subject that ever has existed, and I am ready to maintain
that there is not a scene without an infinite number of
faults " ; yet he was obliged to avow, " in justice to the
author," that cc the piece was a monster with beautiful
parts," and, in tribute to the histrionism of the company,
to admit that " no comedy was ever so well played, or
with such art," for each actor knew just how many
steps to take, each glance was numbered. Loret, too,
accounts Moliere' s comedy —

1 Trait'e de la comedie et des spectacles, selon la tradition de F tglise
tiree des conciles et des saints Peres, by Armand de Bourbon, Prince de
Conti, 1 66 1.

2 Nouvelles nouvelles.

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 169

A play at which such blame is hurled,
Although 'tis seen of all the world,
That never topic of such worth
So much attention has brought forth.1

Moreover, The School for Wives made at least one ardent
friend, for within a week after its presentation Boileau,
then a young man of twenty-six, addressed the author
a few complimentary stanzas upon " his most beautiful
work," concluding with this cheering advice :

Let all your envious critics growl,
Though far and wide they idly howl
That you have charmed the mob in vain,
That your best verses do not please —
If you did not such plaudits gain,
You could not anger with such ease.2

Thus Boileau's friendship, like La Fontaine's, was in-
spired in the first instance by a just estimate of Moliere's
genius.

The School for Wives was first played before royalty
on January sixth, 1663, and, according to Loret, "made
their Majesties laugh until they fairly held their sides " ;
indeed so great was the royal mirth that Louis must
needs see it again within a fortnight. Emboldened by
his monarch's approval of a work the critics had so un-
reservedly condemned, Moliere, with a view to answer-
ing them in kind, placed upon his boards, June first,
1663, The Criticism of The School for Wives (La Critique
de ly Rcole des femmes), — a dialogue rather than a play.

The plot of this charming conceit consists solely in

1 La Muse bistorique.

8 Stances a M. Moliere sur sa com'edie de F JLcole des femmei que plu-
gens frondoient.

170 MOLIERE

the discussion of The School for Wives by a coterie of
fashionables, meeting by chance at Uranie's house to
gossip "over the teacups," as we should now say.
Climene, the precieuse, Elise, a woman of fashion, a mar-
quess, and Lysidas, a poet a la mode> voice popular
disapproval of that play; while the hostess and Dorante,
a chevalier, uphold Moliere, and are, so to speak, his
mouthpieces. These butterflies, painted in colours time
cannot dim, are so lifelike that it is difficult to realise
Uranie's drawing-room is not in the Champs Elysees
quarter; for who has not known just such a woman as
the hostess describes Climene to be when hearing she
resents being called a precieuse?

She disproves the charge in name, it is true, but not
in deed ; for she is one from head to foot, and, besides,
she is the most affected creature in the world. Her
whole body seems to be out of joint; her hips, shoulders,
and head apparently move only on springs, and she
always affects a silly, languishing tone of voice, pouts to
show a small mouth, or rolls her eyes to make them
look large.

How cosmopolitan is the marquess, too, who adjudges
Moliere's play "the worst in the world," because, "deuce
take it ! " he could hardly find a seat ! — an exquisite,
whose critical acumen is thus asserted :

Truly, I find it detestable — detestable, egad! De-
testable to the last degree. What you may call detesta-
ble. . . . Zounds ! I guarantee it to be detestable. . . .
It is detestable, because it is detestable !

This twaddle of a man of fashion is perhaps surpassed
by the same character's answer to the assertion of Elise
that she cannot digest the pottage or the cream tart :

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 171

Ah, upon my word ! yes — cream tart ! That is
what I was saying earlier : Cream tart ! I say, but I am
obliged to you, Madam, for reminding me of cream tart.
Are there enough apples in Normandy for cream tart?1
Cream tart, egad, cream tart !

But this macaroni, like Climene, theprfcieusc, is designed
only as a target for Moliere's shafts; witness Dorante's
retort :

Then, Marquess, you are one of those fine gentle-
men who won't admit the pit has any common sense, and
would be mortified to laugh with it, even were the play
the best in the world. I saw one of our friends make
himself ridiculous the other day in just that way by
sitting a comedy out with the wryest face imaginable.
Whenever anything pleased the audience, he frowned,
while at each outburst of laughter he shrugged his
shoulders, gave the pit a look of spite or compassion,
and shouted : " Laugh away, pit, laugh away ! " 2 Our
friend's annoyance was a supplemental comedy, most
worthily acted, and the audience was agreed it could not
have been done better. I beg you to learn, my dear
Marquess, and the others as well, that in the theatre
common sense has no exclusive abode. The difference
between half a louis and fifteen sous has nothing to do
with good taste; for, either sitting or standing, you may
judge badly. In short, taking it as it comes, I should
be inclined to trust the approval of the pit, since
among its denizens there are many capable of criticising
a play according to dramatic standards, while the rest
pass judgment, as indeed they ought, by letting them-
selves be guided by events, without blind prejudice, silly
complaisance, or absurd delicacy.

1 The apple orchards of France are in Normandy, and this fruit was
the favourite projectile of the pit.

2 Presumably an actual occurrence, since Brossette in his edition of
Boileau (1716) names one " Plapisson, who passed for a great philoso-
pher," as the author of this insulting prank.

172 MOLIERE

This passage, just though it be, is surely an appeal
to the " gallery gods " ; but Moliere, be it remembered,
was an actor. Indeed this entire skit appears intended
to delight his cash-paying patrons at the expense of the
dandies, whose rush-seat chairs upon the stage were so
seldom paid for. Furthermore, his own art is placed on
trial, and he waxes warm in its defence when Dorante
answers Uranie's assertion that comedy is quite as
difficult to write as tragedy :

Assuredly, Madam ; and as for the difficulty, if you
allow comedy a trifle more than its share, you will not be
far from wrong. Indeed, I think it far easier to soar
aloft upon fine sentiments, beard fortune in verse, impeach
destiny, and arraign the gods, than to depict the ridicu-
lous side of human nature or make the common faults of
mankind appear diverting on the stage. When you paint
heroes, you make them what you choose ; no likeness is
sought in such fancy portraits ; therefore you need only
follow the winged shafts of an imagination more than likely
to desert truth for the accomplishment of marvels. But
when you paint men you must paint from nature ; and if
you do not make us recognise the men and women of
our time, you have accomplished nothing. In a word,
all that is necessary in serious plays is to escape censure,
talk common sense, and write well. But in comedy that
is not enough. You must jest, and to make honest
people laugh is a strange undertaking.

An author whose comedy was playing to what a mod-
ern manager would call " capacity business," would have
been preternatural did he not glory a little in his achieve-
ment; moreover, it is a pardonable revenge to take
upon his critics when Uranie thus answers the poet
Lysidas :

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 173

It is odd that you poets always condemn the plays
the whole world rushes to see, and only speak well of
those every one avoids. Toward the one you display
an unconquerable hatred, toward the other an incon-
ceivable affection.

But Moliere's satire is even more delicious, his techni-
cal judgment keener, when Dorante answers the pedantic
strictures of this same Lysidas as follows :

You poets are amusing fellows with those rules of
yours, made only to embarrass the ignorant and deafen
the rest of us. To hear you hold forth, one would think
the rules of art were the greatest mysteries in the world ;
while in reality they are merely a few simple observations
which good sense has made upon elements that might
destroy the pleasure one finds in such poems. The
same good sense which once made those observations
now continues to make them quite as readily without the
aid of Horace or Aristotle. I should like to know
whether the great rule of all rules is not to please, and if
a play which attains that end has not travelled a good
road ? Can the entire public be mistaken, and is not
each one capable of judging of the pleasure he receives ?

Far from convincing Moliere's critics of the futility of
condemning a play " the whole world rushes to see," The
Criticism of The School for Wives served only to redouble
their anger. Soon an army of revengeful scribblers
began discharging replies, defences, and counter-criticisms
at their arch-enemy as rapidly as they could dip their
pens in noxious ink. Foremost, in point of acrimony,
was Donneau de Vize's dialogue, Zehnde ; or, The True
Criticism of The School for Wives, and the Criticism of the
Criticism (Zelinde ou la veritable critique de f Rcole des
femmes et la Critique de la critique), — a pamphlet wherein
Moliere was accused of having offended the church

i74 MOLIERE

morality, the stage, the court, and society: but a comedy
called The Portrait of the Painter ; or, 'The Counter-
Criticism of The School for Wives (Le Portrait du peintre
ou la Contre- critique de FEcole des femmes) from the pen
of a young writer named Boursault, which was played
at the Hotel de Bourgogne while Moliere himself was
seated on the stage, apparently inflicted the deepest
wound upon the poet's vanity. De Vize even accuses
him of making " a wry face " * during this performance.

In Boursault's play Moliere's comic characters, the
precieuse and the marquess, appear in defence of The
School for Wives, while his wiseacres attack it; thus the
marquess claims it to be " admirable, egad ! admirable to
the last degree/' and there is a story to the effect that
when Moliere was asked his opinion of his portrait, he
answered, "Admirable, egad, admirable to the last de-
gree ! " 2 — a bit of sententiousness tempered with honest
pride ; for, as he said, " the actors of the Hotel de Bour-
gogne, in turning my plays inside out like a coat, profited
by their charm."

Fellow craftsmen, however, were not the only enemies
he was obliged to encounter. One day, as he passed
through an apartment of the palace, the Due de la
Feuillade, while pretending to greet him, seized his head
suddenly, and crying, " Cream tart, Moliere, cream
tart," rubbed his face against the sharp buttons of his
doublet until it bled.3 Fortunately the King took his

1 Reponse a P Impromptu de Versailles.

8 Les Amours de Calotin, a comedy by Chevalier, a comedian of the
Theatre du Marais.

8 This story is first told in the Life of Moliere (Vie de Moliere) attrib-
uted to Bruzen de la Martiniere, and published at The Hague in 1725 ;
but Grimarest makes mention of a "cream tart" incident between
Moliere and " a courtier of distinction," while De Vize refers in Zelinde

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 175

part, and reproved the recalcitrant duke; else the
Bastille, rather than a nose-rubbing, might have been
Moliere's fate.

Boursault's play, The Portrait of the Painter, was an
attempt to hoist Moliere with his own petard, and so
galled him that he penned and rehearsed a comedy, in
retort, called The Versailles Impromptu (U Impromptu de
Versailles}*

Produced, as its name implies, before the court at Ver-
sailles, this one-act piece is in the vein of The Criticism
of The School for Wives ; but Moliere's attacks upon his
critics, instead of being entrusted to poets, fops, and
precieuses, are voiced by the members of his own com-
pany, himself included, in propriis personis. In other
words, The Impromptu presents the stage of his theatre
during the rehearsal of a new play, in the course of

to «• the cream tart adventure"; so it seems more than probable that
Moliere suffered this indignity. Brossette, however, says that Monsieur
d'Armagnac, the grand equerry, was the author of the insult.

1 The question whether Boursault's play preceded or followed The
Versailles Impromptu on the boards is still a mooted one. In the latter
play Moliere unquestionably shows familiarity with The Portrait ,- but
this might have been acquired through a reading. According to a docu-
ment unearthed at Berlin, the envoy of the Elector of Brandenburg was
present at the first performance of The Portrait, — an event occurring at
the Hotel de Bourgogne, October nineteenth, 1663 ; while the preface of
1682 gives October fourteenth as the date of the first production of The
Impromptu t — facts which would apparently establish the priority of Mo-
liere's piece, were it not that La Grange, in stating that the Palais Royal
company went to Versailles October eleventh and returned October
twenty-third, fails to give the exact date of The Impromptu's pro-
duction there. As the King, absent on the eleventh, did not reach
Versailles until the fifteenth, evidently the new play was not presented
until after his arrival. The possibility of the two comedies having been
produced on the same day is suggested by M. Paul Mesnard, Notice
biograpbique.

176 MOLIERE

which his actors receive their stage directions and are
frankly told their chiePs opinion of their respective abili-
ties. Indeed, this play is a biographical document wherein
Moliere shows himself in the role of manager, and
reveals his stage business and theories of histrionic art in
a way that clearly indicates his character to be at once
nervous and patient, headstrong and even stubborn ;
moreover, he paints the eccentricities of his comrades so
cleverly that they appear more lifelike than any purely
biographical notice could present them ; hence, besides
being a polemic, this play is a realistic picture of life in
Moliere's company.

" Ah, what strange beasts actors are to drive ! " he
exclaims while distributing the parts for an imaginary
play, — an opinion many a modern manager will share;
and he is equally unsparing of irony when he refers to
his own family relations, as the following bit of dialogue
will testify :

MOLIERE
Be quiet, wife ! You are a fool.

MLLE. MOLIERE [Armande Bejart]

Thanks, lord and master. That shows how marriage changes
people. You would not have said that eighteen months ago.

MOLIERE
Be quiet, I beg you.

MLLE. MOLIERE

Strange that a trifling ceremony is able to rob us of all our
good qualities, and that a husband and lover regard the same
woman with such different eyes !

MOLIERE
What a sermon !

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 177

MLLE. MOLIERE

Upon my word, if I were to write a comedy, that would be
my subject. I should acquit women of most of the charges
brought against them, and make husbands afraid of the contrast
between their rough manners and a lover's courtesy.

Interesting as is this side light upon Moliere's domes-
tic affairs, the fact that this play was designed and rushed
to completion within eight days as a retort to Boursault's
Portrait of the Painter should be borne in mind. A true
picture of theatrical life at the beginning, including even a
flirtatious marquess who besieges the stage door, it soon
degenerates to a polemic wherein Moliere is upheld, not
over modestly, it must be confessed, and his enemies
handled with scant pity. Thus Boursault, when Du
Croisy speaks of The Portrait, is given the worst insult
an author can receive — that of being dismissed as un-
known — in the following :

It is advertised, sir, under Boursault's name ; but, to
let you into the secret, a number of men have had a
hand in this work, so it is a case of great expectations.
As all authors and all comedians consider Moliere their
greatest enemy, we are all united to do him an ill turn.
Each of us has added a stroke of the brush to his por-
trait, but we have been careful not to sign our names to
it. To capitulate beneath the eyes of the whole world
before the attack of a combined Parnassus, would be too
much glory ; so, to render his defeat more ignominious,
we have expressly chosen an author without reputation.

In the imaginary play under rehearsal, Moliere allots
himself the part of a comical marquess. ct What, mar-
quesses, again ? " asks one of the characters when the
parts are being distributed. "Yes, marquesses again,"
Moliere answers; "what the devil would you have me

178 MOLIERE

do for a low comedy character ? Nowadays a marquess
is the clown in a play ; for, just as formerly there was
always a loutish servant to amuse the audience, now all
our plays must have a comical marquess to make the
spectators laugh."

This bold onslaught upon the clan of marquesses
certainly proves how secure Moliere felt in his mon-
arch's protection. However, when the poet speaks of his
enemies, he forgets that he is playing a character part :

The worst harm I have done them is to have the
good luck to succeed a little more than they wished me
to. Their whole conduct since we have been in Paris
shows only too clearly what annoys them ; but let them
do their worst! — all their schemes cannot worry me.
They criticise my plays : so much the better ; and
Heaven forefend I should ever write any they would like !
That would certainly be a piece of bad business for me.

Again, he exclaims with the desperation of a hounded
man :

Courtesy must have its limits ; for there are some
things that can amuse neither the spectator nor the one
at whom they are aimed. I gladly surrender them my
works, my face, my gestures, my words, my tones of
voice, my way of reciting to do with and talk about and
as they see fit, if they can derive any profit therefrom.
I have nothing to say against all this ; and I should be
enchanted if it served to divert the world ; but after
surrendering to them all that, they might at least have
the kindness to leave me the rest, and not touch on
subjects of the nature of those by which I hear they
attack me in their comedies. This is what I shall po-
litely urge upon the worthy man who undertakes to write
for them, and this is all the answer they shall have
from me.

THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES 179

As a final blow to his enemies, The Versailles Impromptu
proved as ineffectual as The Criticism of The School for
Wives. In the former Moliere imitated the methods
and mannerisms of the various actors of the Hotel de
Bourgogne, much after the manner of a modern imperso-
nator, pointing out at the same time the utter disregard of
nature in their heroic declamation. This was, of course,
a throw of the gauntlet to the tragedians, and Corneille,
too, felt himself aggrieved by the assertion that it was
harder to make honest people laugh than to write trag-
edy ; so The Versailles Impromptu called forth a new crop
of plays and pamphlets. Robinet's Panegyric of The
School for Wives ; or, A Comic Talk on the Works of M. de
Moliere (Le Panegyrique de TEcole des femmes, ou Conversa-
tion comique sur les (Euvres de M. de Moliere} — in many
ways the reverse of a panegyric — and De Vize's Reply
to The Versailles Impromptu ; or, The Marquesses Revenge
(Reponse a ly Impromptu de Versailles ou la Vengeance des
marquis) were the chief contributions of men of letters to
this new attack, while the tragedians found a valiant
champion in Montfleury — a ranting member of their
guild — who replied to Moliere's aspersions upon the art
of the Hotel de Bourgogne in The Impromptu of the
Hfael de Conde (U Impromptu de r Hotel de Conde), — an
uninspired comedy in which the author endeavours to
repay Moliere in his own coin by ridiculing his elocu-
tion and pantomime.

The stage of the Hotel de Bourgogne was the arena
for this Billingsgate warfare ; but Moliere, wisely refrain-
ing from further controversy, permitted The Versailles
Impromptu to be his last trial of strength with his ene-
mies. His hapless excursion into the field of acrimony
had taught him the trite but true lesson that speech is

180 MOLIERE

human, silence divine. Characteristic as are the sub-
jective passages of his two polemical plays, his reputa-
tion nevertheless suffers considerably by this descent
to fish-market methods. True, the master of the art of
comedy speaks ; yet, when all is said, had the man Moliere
been content to "float upon the wings of silence," he
would appear to us in a light far more dignified. Surely
those acrid passages, superb though they be as tenets of
the art of " making honest people laugh," tend to strip
the Parnassian robes from his back and leave him a giant
trembling on the pedestal of a god, far too nettled to
hold his tongue while envious pygmies jeer. Sainte-
Beuve once called Montaigne the wisest Frenchman that
ever lived; he might have added that Moliere is the
most human.

MOLIERE THE COURTIER 181

MOLIERE THE COURTIER

SINCE the gross receipts at the Palais Royal increased
fully ninety per cent during this period of controversy,
the attacks of the critics proved a boon to its treasury ;
moreover, the sole change in the ranks of the company
was caused by De TEspy's voluntary retirement on ac-
count of age (March twelfth) ; so, theatrically, 1663 was
an auspicious year.

This prosperity was due in a great measure to
Moliere's ability "well to amuse" his monarch, — an
event of such frequent occurrence that during the first
five years of his sojourn in Paris the exchequer of his
company was enriched by some forty thousand livres
from performances given at court and in society.
Though perfumed marquesses were legitimate meat for
his satire, he wisely avoided even the suggestion of lese
majeste. He was, indeed, no " unseasoned courtier " ;
for the King's wishes were his law, — a policy he thus
discloses in The Versailles Impromptu :

Kings like nothing so much as prompt obedience, and
are not at all pleased at finding obstacles in their path.
Things are only acceptable to them at the moment they
want them, and to try to postpone their amusement is
to deprive it of charm. They want pleasures that do
not keep them waiting, and the least prepared are always
the most acceptable. In catering to their wishes we
should never consider ourselves ; for we exist only to

182 MOLIERE

please them ; and when they command, our part is to
respond quickly to their immediate desires. It is far
better to do badly what they ask than not to do it soon
enough ; for even though one be ashamed of not having
succeeded entirely, one always has the glory of having
promptly obeyed their behest.

Lest Moliere appear in the light of a literary toady,
such as Swift, it should be borne in mind that the very
roof over his head was there by the King's grace and
that in courting Louis he but emulated all France. In-
deed, not to recognise the debt he owed the man he was
pleased to call "the greatest monarch in the world,"
would have been base ingratitude. That he wisely re-
frained from asking favours is shown by the fact that
although summoned to court thirty-one times during his
first five years in Paris — often for a sojourn of weeks —
his name did not appear in the royal pension list until
March seventeenth, 1663, a few weeks after the first
performance of The School for Wives.

Although Corneille received two thousand livres on
this same occasion, as " the first dramatic poet of the
world," and Menage, the critic, a like sum, Moliere's
pension was but a modest thousand, as " an excellent
comic poet." Furthermore, at least twenty other writers,
of whom Benserade alone has fame, were rewarded as fully
as he ; while only seven — among them Racine, then
comparatively unknown — received less. Gratitude for
official recognition at a moment when bigotry was pro-
claiming his School for Wives an assault upon morality,
and, maybe, pride at being the only actor named in a
pension list designed to award great scientists and men
of letters, prompted him to thank his monarch for this
paltry recognition of his merit.

MOLIERE THE COURTIER 183

The verses he indited for this purpose were so charm-
ing that even Robinet was forced to exclaim, " Have
you seen the acknowledgment (remerciment} Moliere has
composed for his pension as a fine wit? Nothing so
gallant or pleasing has been seen. It is a portrait of the
court, feature by feature. You see it as if you were
there : its garments, the ways of courtiers ; in short,
everything appears before you, even to the sound of the

voices."

Moliere's acknowledgment is, indeed, "a portrait of
the court " ; for, summoning his "lazy muse," he bids
her don the frills and ribbons of a marquess and attend
the King's levee, in order to thank his Majesty for his
precious boon. But " a muse's manner is offensive
there," he warns her, " so thus disguised, you '11 pay
your court far more agreeably. You know what you
must do to simulate a marquess : perch a hat adorned
with thirty feathers on a costly wig, and let your neck-
band be large, your doublet small ; but, above all, I
recommend a cloak with a ribbon tucked on the back ;
and, remember, great gallantry is required to be accounted
a marquess of the first order." Chatting thus familiarly,
the poet then admonishes his muse upon the way to be-
have when she presents his thanks : " Cross the guard
room combing your hair gracefully, glance sharply about
you, and do not forget to greet imperiously, by name,
each one you know — no matter what his rank may be ;
for such familiarity gives any one a distinguished air.
Scratch the King's door with your comb,2 or if, as I

1 Le Panegyrique de /' Ecole des femmes ou Conversation comique sur
les (Euvres de M. de Moliere.

2 It was customary to scratch, instead of knock, at the King's door ;
thus, for instance, the Baron de la Crasse, the hero of a play of that name

1 84 MOLlfiRE

foresee, the crowd there is great, wave your hat from
afar or climb on something to show your face, then cry
out continuously, c Mr. Usher, for the Marquess So
and So/ Throw yourself into the crowd, bluster, elbow
without mercy, press, push, and do your devilmost
to get in front. Even should the inflexible usher shove
some repugnant marquess in front of you, don't re-
cede, but stand there firmly. To open the door, he
must dislodge you ; therefore stand so no one can pass,
and they will be obliged to let you in, in order to let any
one in. When you have entered, don't relax your efforts.
To besiege the throne, you must continue the struggle ;
so, by conquering your ground, step by step, try to be
one of the nearest to it. If preceding besiegers hold all
the approaches in force, make up your mind quietly to
await the prince in the passage. He will recognise you,
in spite of your disguise ; so pay him your compliment
without further ado."

Thus, with a few bold strokes Moliere paints the
courtier : to his fellows, a bully ; to his master, a puppy
with a frill about his neck. In the closing stanza, too,
he flatters Louis more than all the praise and incense of
his satellites :

A prince magnificent but asks

For compliments full brief and true,
And ours, you see, has many other tasks

Than hearkening to words from you.
Untouched is he when fulsome praise he sips ;

So when you try with open lips

To speak of grace or favours gay,

by Raymond de Poisson (1662), recounts that, having knocked at the
King's door, the gentleman in waiting exclaimed : " . . . Apprenez
done, Monsieur de Pezenas, qu'on gratte a cette porte, et qu'on n'y
heurte pas."

MOLlfiRE THE COURTIER 185

At once your meaning 's clear, hence off he slips,

An arrow flying, straight away ;
But sweetly smiles, meantime, with manner bland,

No heart can e'er evade.

What more do you demand ?

Your compliment is paid.

One can fairly whiff the perfumed air of the throne
room and see Louis trip away amid a throng of bowing
marquesses with ribboned canes.

In thus revealing the real man beneath the robes of
state, Moliere showed how worthily he played the cour-
tier's role ; for a king likes to be treated as a man and
equal, provided we stand just a step or two below him
with hat in hand. Our poet knew that art ; so he won /
Louis' confidence. Nevertheless there was just a grain
of snobbishness in his nature; though he ploughed the
field of snobs to his advantage, yet, like Thackeray, true
to his middle class antecedents, he dearly loved a lord.
This failing is manifested by the pertinacity with which
he clung to the paltry title of valet de chambre tapissier
du roi.

In 1645, and aga*n m 1650, he thus signed himself to
public documents, although he had previously resigned
all rights to that office ; while upon his brother's death,
in April, 1660, he made haste to regain his lost quality ;
for in November of the following year he witnessed a
document as valet de chambre du roi. To his own
marriage certificate, however, the name of his father alone
is signed in this manner, — possibly because the parent
objected to a usurpation of his dignities.

The first published record of his appearance at court
is found in 1663, when among the eight tapissiers valets
de chambre serving during the January trimester, " M.

i86 MOLIERE

Poquelin and his son, in reversion " are mentioned
officially.1

The latter was, of course, Moliere, and the preceding
year being the period of his marriage and long sojourn at
St. Germain, it seems likely that his wife's social ambi-
tions played no small part in causing him to assert his
inherited right to make the King's bed. In the words of
the Preface of 1682, " Moliere fulfilled his duties at court
during his quarter until his death " ; but conceive the
disdain with which the marquesses received this actor-
upholsterer who had so frequently held them up to
public scorn — this outcast unworthy to be shriven. To
quote The Versailles Impromptu, " I leave you to imag-
ine if all those who believed themselves satirised by
Moliere would not take the first occasion to avenge
themselves ? "

When he appeared in the royal bed-chamber, one
valet de chambre openly refused to serve with him, and
this sedition might have become widespread had not an
amateur poet named Bellocq rebuked such snobbery by
asking the offended actor if he might not have the honour
of making the King's bed with him. Thus aided by a
fellow craftsman, Moliere gained a foothold at court ; yet
the picture of these two poets, gorgeous in their laces,
ribbons, and perukes, smoothing the royal pillows and
sheets like a pair of chambermaids, is certainly one to
provoke a smile.

There is a charming sequel to this incident, which, like
many stories concerning Moliere, has been stamped as
apocryphal. To repeat it is to court the charge of being
a persifleur ; yet, even at that risk, it shall appear once
more. The officials of the privy chamber, it appears,
1 U hat de la France.

Moliere and M. Belloc making the Kingls bed

MOLIERE THE COURTIER 187

showed plainly how it annoyed them to be obliged to eat
at the same table with Moliere ; so Louis, hearing of their
rudeness, said to the actor one morning during the petit
lever :

" I hear you are badly entertained, M. de Moliere,
and that my people don't find you good enough to eat
with them. Perhaps you are hungry. Sit down here
and try my en cas de nuit" (a provision made in the
evening in case the royal appetite should suddenly require
satisfaction during the night). Then cutting a chicken
and ordering Moliere to be seated, the King helped him
to a wing, took one himself, and gave orders that the
most favoured personages of the court be admitted.

" You see, I am making Moliere eat something," said
Louis, " for my valets de chambre don't find him good
enough company for them."

This is the incident known as the en cas de nuit. It is
classed as legendary because it was first told in print in
1823 by a certain Madame Campan, whose father-in-law
heard it from an old physician of Louis XIV, whom she
failed to name ; and because decorous little Saint-Simon
assures us that, " save with the army, the King never ate
with any man, not even a prince of the blood." How-
ever, as M. Moland aptly says, "there are always excep-
tions to the most positive of protocols." Ingres, Gerome,
and Vetter have painted the scene ; no archaeologist may
destroy its charm. Let this human incident remain, —
it is far too delightful to be banished by evidence no
more tangible than mere conjecture ! *

1 M. Gustave Larroumet (La Comedle de Moliere) calls attention to
the fact that the valets de cbambre tapissier did not eat at the palace with
the valets de chambre, citing in proof thereof U Etat de la France, and
thus adding, "it must be confessed a strong argument against the verisi-

i88 MOLIERE

When the marquesses were convinced that Moliere
could not be undermined in the royal favour, they paid
him court with all the superciliousness of their caste.
" These gentlemen/' says De Vize,1 " often invited him
to dine, but, as those who believe in their own merit
never lack vanity, he returned all the cheer he received,
his wit making him pass on a par with many people far
above him."

He was, perhaps, the first actor since classic days to
knock at society's door. Considering the obloquy the
church had cast upon his calling, his success was remark-
able. Even Saint-Simon, whose breviary was precedence,
bears witness to it in an amusing anecdote he tells about
Julie d'Angennes' husband, the Due de Montausier.
This austere nobleman, it seems, having heard he had
been travestied in T^he Misanthrope^ was furious until he
saw the piece played ; whereupon, feeling it an honour
to be likened to Alceste, the hero, he sent for the author.
Moliere appeared with much perturbation ; but the duke
ran to embrace him, and, supper being announced, the
actor was invited to share it. To quote Saint-Simon :
" Moliere, who had supped more than once with young
lords during some gay carouse, had never eaten, in other
circumstances, even with them ; much less with a man
of the dignity, age, position, and austerity of Monsieur
de Montausier."2

Saint-Simon makes it apparent that the cabaret was
the only meeting-ground for the stage and society ; there-
fore it is easier to understand Moliere's persistence in

militude of this incident ; for if Moliere did not eat with the gentlemen of
the court, there was no cause for them to refuse to sit at table with him."

1 Nouvelles nouvellfs.

2 E frits in edits de Saint-Simon.

MOLlfiRE THE COURTIER 189

making the King's bed. Besides asserting his birth-
right, he thus obtained an insight into court life ; for, if
he dearly loved a lord, like Thackeray he dearly loved to
paint one. Posterity should be grateful that he smoothed
the King's sheets ; for as the great English satirist him-
self said of the Frenchman's masterful portraits, "What
fine ladies and gentlemen Moliere represents ! " 1

"In catering to the wishes of kings," our poet told
his actors, "we should never consider ourselves, since we
exist only to please them." This doctrine is repeated
here as its author's own excuse for the inferior quality of
his court comedies and ballets. According to a state-
ment in an earlier chapter, the obsequious period of his
art was closely allied with the Gallic in point of time ;
but, more correctly speaking, its inception took place
then, for time-serving plays appear in both the militant
and histrionic periods. Indeed, these court comedies
were Moliere's quick responses to the King's " imme-
diate desires," — in other words, a courtier's artifice.

The Bores, written to order in fifteen days, is a pleasing
example of these court plays ; for it has distinct charm,
— a quality lacking in The Forced Marriage (Le Mariage
force), the play which followed The Versailles Impromptu.
Styled a comedy ballet, but in reality a one-act farce in
prose, The Forced Marriage, as Voltaire justly says, is
" more remarkable for buffoonery than for either art or
charm." 2 Save for a few touches of Rabelaisian mirth,
it might pass for a crude canevas of Moliere's youth.
When presented at the Louvre in Anne of Austria's
apartment, January twenty-ninth, 1664, this play so
pleased the royal family that it was repeated before the

1 The Virginians.

2 Vie de Moliere avec des jugements sur ses ouvrages*

i9o MOLIERE

court three times within a fortnight, — a success due to
the King's appearance as a gypsy in one of the ballet
interludes, danced to Lully's music.1 Although given,
to quote La Grange, " with the ballet and ornaments,"
The Forced Marriage, when placed upon the boards of
the Palais Royal, February fifteenth, was without the
allurement of Louis' dancing; so the receipts dwindled
from some twelve hundred livres at the first public per-
formance to barely two hundred at the twelfth, when it
was withdrawn.

In June of the following year (1665) Moliere went to
Versailles with his company and presented The Favourite
(Le Favori) — a comedy by Mile, des Jardins — upon an
at fresco stage. This performance was heightened by his
own appearance in the audience disguised as a ridiculous
marquess, who, despite the prearranged efforts of the
guards to suppress him, carried on a humorous conver-
sation with one of the actresses in the play, — a bit of
theatrical by-play still current upon our own stage.2

Although Moliere was ever thus ready to amuse his King,
the failure of 'The Forced Marriage should have convinced
him of the fallibility of his doctrine that " in catering
to the wishes of monarchs we must never consider our-

1 Giovanni Battista Lully (or Lulli) was a Florentine composer and
violinist, who, joining the Royal French Orchestra in 1650, was soon
thereafter appointed Director of Music to Louis XIV. He composed the
music for Moliere's comedy ballets, until, receiving in 1672 the privi-
lege of establishing a Royal Academy of Music, he became so dictatorial
and so tenacious of his rights that he opposed the productions of pieces
with incidental music by theatrical companies, thus forcing Moliere to
seek the services of another composer (Charpentier) when writing his last
comedy ballet (The Imaginary Invalid^. Lully composed twenty operas,
and may justly be called the founder of the French lyric drama.

2 La Grange's Regis tre. Le Molieriste> April, 1881.

MOLIERE THE COURTIER 191

selves." Yet his desire to please Louis at all hazards
was so great that the first act of his next effort, T'he Prin-
cess of Elis (La Princess a* Elide), and one scene of the
second, are in Alexandrian verse, whereas prose is the
vehicle for the remainder, — a perfunctory treatment,
one is tempted to say slip-shod, thus excused by the poet
in his Preface :

The author's intention was to treat the entire comedy
in verse ; but a command from the King so hastened its
completion that he was obliged to finish the remainder
in prose and pass lightly over several scenes he would
have expanded further had he possessed more leisure.

Hasty though it be in workmanship, its conceptive
charm entitles The Princess of Elis to a higher rank than
falls to the lot of many of the author's court plays. The
scene is in an imaginary Greece, the heroine a young
Diana roaming the forest in contempt of the wooers her
father has gathered at his court, until Euryale, a prince of
Ithaca, makes use of her own weapon, scorn. In the
lovers1 battle-royal which ensues, victory hovers over
the contestant appearing to seek her least, until finally the
contumelious princess becomes a truly feminine victim
of love.

Pastoral comedy was strange ground to Moliere, yet
this fanciful excursion therein is so delightful that he
might well have tarried longer " under the greenwood
tree." Had he known Shakespeare, he would be open
to the suspicion of having found " his property " on the
banks of the Avon ; for Elis is an imaginary realm like
unto Bohemia, and Moron the jester, played by him-
self, a cousin-german to Touchstone; moreover the
princess is a heroine whose charm is truly Shakespearian,

192 MOLlfiRE

and Euryale a lover quite as romantic as Orlando or
Florizel. In this instance, however, the poet borrowed
from a Spanish comedy by Augustin Moreto, called
Scorn with Scorn (El Desden con el desden\ a title which
strikes the key-note of both plays.

^The Princess of Elis was styled " a gallant comedy
interspersed with music and ballet interludes," — a sub-
title justified by six ballets, wherein musicians, bears,
huntsmen, whippers-in, satyrs, and shepherdesses danced
and sang to music by Lully, and incidentally abetted
Moron the jester in his love for Phyllis the princess's
maid. Indeed, the play must have been written to a
great extent around these interludes ; for it was designed,
primarily, to grace an alfresco fete.

No royal demesne could yet vie with Vaux-le-Vicomte.
To eclipse the superintendent's achievement, the young
monarch began to embellish his father's hunting-box at
Versailles ; but so great was the outlay that Colbert re-
monstrated, saying, " Ah, what a pity it would be should
the greatest of kings, the most virtuous, in the true virtue
which makes the greatest princes, be measured by the
ell of Versailles ! " Colbert's letter was certainly pro-
phetic; for Louis, despite the really glorious achieve-
ments of his reign, is gauged by this ell.

In 1664, however, it was a modest measure. Only the
central portion of the palace was built ; the park covered
only a fraction of its present extent ; and of the marvel-
lous fountains and canals the Basin of Apollo had alone
been dug. Still, there was a zoological garden, and an
orangery embellished by twelve hundred or more of
Fouquet's own trees ; so Versailles was sufficiently im-
posing to warrant Louis' choice of it as the scene of a

MOLIERE THE COURTIER 193

series of fetes designed to outshine the superintendent's
ill-starred magnificence.1

These were held in May, 1664, anc* lasting an entire
week, were known as " The Pleasures of the Enchanted
Isle" (Les Plaisirs dej? lie enchant ee}. Heretofore Bense-
rade had been charged with the creatiorTof court festivals ;
but on this occasion the Due de Saint-Aignan, master
of ceremonies, had recourse to Moliere. The subject
chosen was Ariosto's account, in Orlando Furioso, of
Ruggiero the paladin's sojourn in the island palace of
Alcina the enchantress. The King was allotted the part
of Ruggiero, his courtiers each assuming a character in
the Italian poem until every knight had found his
counterpart.2

A circular meadow was chosen as the site of Alcina's
palace, and at each entrance a portico bearing the royal
arms was erected. There was a dais, too, for Anne of
Austria and Maria Theresa; since true-hearted Louise
de la Valliere, though playing the role of Bradamante,
adored of Ruggiero, was prevented by etiquette from
being crowned queen of the festival.

" The Pleasures of the Enchanted Isle " began on the
first night at the twilight hour, with a flourish of trumpets
and drums to herald a king-at-arms, gorgeous in crimson
and silver. With him rode the pages of Ruggiero, of
the earl marshal, and of the judge of the lists, bearing
their masters' shields and lances. Mounted trumpeters

1 La Creation de Versailles, by Pierre de Nolhac.

2 A complete description of this astonishing spectacle, entitled Les
Plaisirs de rile encbantee, was published in 1664, and Marigny, a
writer of the day, has left a spirited account of it (Relation de Marigny) ;
while a series of engravings by Israel Sylvestre gives a wonderfully clear
impression of the mise-en-scene.

I94 MOLlfiRE

and kettle-drummers followed, their banderols and tim-
brels glittering with blazoned suns of gold ; then came
the earl marshal, the Due de Saint-Aignan, himself, armed
a la grecque with dragoned helm and silver corselet In
his wake rode more trumpeters, sounding a fanfaron of
joy to herald Louis. Resplendent in jewels and in gold,
he appeared, followed by his paladins. In the words of
an anonymous chronicler, " his bearing was worthy of his
rank; for never had an air more free and martial placed
a mortal above his fellow-men." *

Hardly had the loyal acclamations of Louis' subjects
died away, when Milet, his coachman, arrayed as Father
Time, drove Apollo's chariot upon the scene, his vehicle
gorgeous in azure and gold. The divinity was the young
comedian La Grange ; the Ages of Gold, Silver, Bronze,
and Iron,grouped at his feet, were Mile. Moliere (Armande
Bejart), M. Hubert,2 Mile, de Brie, and M. du Croisy, all
of Moliere's company, — a triumph for the Palais Royal
theatre which caused a spectator to suggest that if Father
Time overturned Apollo's chariot, the Hotel de Bour-
gogne would be easily consoled.3 Indeed, the royal
troupe had cause for jealousy, since not a single member
graced this fete. But Apollo's chariot did not over-
turn ; so Moliere's actresses — " barn-stormers " barely
six years before — triumphed over their rivals and recited
verses in adulation of the queen.

A ring tilting contest followed, lasting till darkness

1 Les P/aisirs de /' lie encbantee.

2 An actor from the Theatre du Marais, who had just joined Mo-
liere's forces, noted both as a female impersonator and as the author
of the Registre de Hubert, a chronicle of the company during the years
1672-73.

8 Relation de Marigny.

MOLIERE THE COURTIER 195

fell ; then a myriad lights blazed upon the scene, while
Lully, Orpheus of the day, entered with a choir of
singers, marching to the cadence of their instruments,
and followed by a grotesque cavalcade depicting the
four seasons. The beautiful Du Pare, mounted on an
Andalusian palfrey, represented Spring; Summer was
her fat husband, Gros Rene, riding, appropriately, on an
elephant ; Autumn, La Thorilliere, astride a camel ; and
Winter, Louis Bejart, mounted on a bear, — a whimsi-
cal stable, made possible by the proximity of the royal
menagerie. Gardeners, harvesters, vintagers, and patri-
archs escorted these masquerading players; and a sylvan
float, heralded by hautboys and flutes, appeared, mov-
ing by imperceptible means, with Moliere perched in its
topmost branches as the great god Pan, and his wife as
Diana, queen of the night.

When these woodland deities had recited verses to the
queen, a ballet symbolical of the Hours of the Day and
the Signs of the Zodiac was danced to Lully's measures ;
meantime the comptrollers of the King's household laid
tables weighed with " laughter, sport, and delight " — a
contemporary way of saying good things — before the
royal dais ; whereupon their Majesties and the attend-
ants partook of a banquet " whose magnificence," in the
words of a chronicler, " was comparable to the ancient
feasts of the gods." l

Moved to a woodland dell on the second day, Alcina's
palace became a verdant theatre; and there, when the
sun had set, Ruggiero and his valiant paladins were re-
galed by The Princess of Elis. The title role of this
comedy was filled by Armande Bejart, Moliere playing
Moron the jester. In an engraving of the scene Israel
1 Relation de Marigny.

196 MOLlfiRE

Sylvestre depicts a stage as wide as that of the Milanese
Scala, with a depth surpassing it. The actors wear flow-
ing robes and plumed helmets — the pseudo-classic cos-
tume of the time — and the trains of the actresses are
carried by pages ; so the ballet interludes, wherein bears,
huntsmen, fauns, and shepherdesses abetted Moliere's
buffooneries, were certainly in marked contrast to this
stateliness. Yet, according to a contemporary, the audi-
ence found the performance "so excellent, complete,
and delightful " that this apparent temerity proved sound
theatrical judgment.

On the third day Mile, du Pare, representing Alcina
the sorceress, and Miles. Moliere1 and de Brie, as two
nymphs, floated about the basin now dedicated to Apollo,
on the backs of huge wooden sea monsters, and recited
verses in honour of Anne of Austria, — a diversion fol-
lowed by a ballet of giants, dwarfs, and demons dancing
to the strains of the royal violins. Meantime Alcina's
palace, built upon a rocky isle, blazed forth in fireworks
so magnificent that the spectators believed " the sky,
the earth, and the water all were ablaze ! "

This final burst of pyrotechnic glory ended " The
Pleasures of the Enchanted Isle " ; but the King tarried
on at Versailles, cutting the Turk's head a I'allemande^ and
distributing costly gifts to the ladies by means of a lottery.
In these supplemental gaieties Moliere played an impor-
tant role. On Sunday, May eleventh, The Bores was per-
formed in a salon of the palace, with ballet interludes
danced to music by Beauchamp ; on the following day
the first three acts of The Hypocrite (Le Tartuffe) were

1 After her marriage Armande Bejart was known as Mile. Moliere, the
word Mademoiselle being used to describe married women of lesser rank ;
Madame being confined to ladies of the court.

MOLlfiRE THE COURTIER 197

presented, while on Tuesday, the thirteenth, The Forced
Marriage was given.1

Moliere's triumph was now complete, his hold upon
the King's favour firmly established. In August, 1665,
Louis granted his troupe an annual pension of six thou-
sand livres, but of far more significance^ was his request
to Monsieur that the patronage of Moliere's company
be ceded to him. Henceforth the Palais Royal players
were known as " The Xing' s Troupe," and, the com-
pany of the Hotel de Bourgogne being styled "The
Royal Troupe," it is apparent that in thus distinguish-
ing Moliere's organisation Louis desired to indicate his
personal consideration and proprietorship.

At every royal fete the actor poet — a veritable buf-
foon laureate — was expected to provide cleverness and
mirth. His numerous comedy ballets were all written
for such a purpose. In September, 1665, he composed
in five days a three-act prose comedy of this nature, called
Love as a Doctor (L? Amour medecin\ which was performed
at Versailles. In December of the following year Meli-
certe, — styled An Heroic Pastoral, — only two acts of
which were completed, was played at a fete at St. Ger-
main, known as " The Ballet of the Muses " ; while a
comic pastoral from his pen and a comedy ballet entitled
The Sicilian ; or, Love as a Painter (Le Sicilien ou I * Amour
peintre) were also presented on this occasion. The last
of these Voltaire called the first one-act piece in the lan-
guage " possessing both grace and charm " ; still it is but
an agreeable trifle which might serve as a framework for
an opera bouffe.

1 The Hypocrite forms the subject of the ensuing chapter. The part
played by" The Pleasures of the Enchanted Isle " in Moliere's domestic
affairs is treated fully in Chapter XIII.

198 MOLlfcRE

Jn 1668 a fete rivalling "The Pleasures of the En-
chanted Tsle " was held at Versailles in celebration of the
conclusion of the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle. On this oc-
casion Louis spent a hundred thousand livres in a single
evening, and Moliere provided a comedy which, in the
precious language of Mile, de Scudery, " was interspersed
with the most surprising and marvellous symphony ever
known, in which several scenes were sung by the most
beautiful voices in the entire world, and with divers amus-
ing ballets." This comedy was George Dandiny that de- //
lightful satire upon peasants who wish to rise above their
station. For the fete held at Chambord, in 1669,
Moliere wrote Monsieur de Pourceaugnacy the original of
many succeeding farces in which a country lout has the
temerity to court a pretty girl ; and in^ the year following J (#
the King himself suggested the subject for a five-act
comedy, with ballet interludes, known as The Magnificent
Lovers (Les Amants magnifiques). This collaboration with
Louis perhaps accounts for the stilted dulness of this
later play, — the most uninteresting in the entire range
of Moliere's work. In 1670, too, The Burgher y a Gentle-
many the only one of Moliere's comedy ballets, save Tbe
Imaginary Invalid y that takes high rank among his works,
was produced before the court at Chambord ; and in
_Psycbey a so-called tragedy ballet dealing with

Cupid's familiar love story, was put forth hurriedly for
the carnival.4- This latter play is perhaps the most re-
markable piere of collaboration in dramatic literature.
Moliere had time only to sketch the idea and indite a
part of the verses ; so Corneille was called upon to fin-
ish them, while Quinault wrote the words to the songs,
and Lully the music. Again, at St. Germain in 1671,
The Comtesse d*Escarbagnasy a one-act comedy balfet,

MOLIERE THE COURTIER 199

was produced before the court. Tbe^Imaginary Invalid*
however, though intended for court production, was first
presented at the Palais Royal.

Tin_ i " " i- '«""*" -;; - - -- • . - .._. — ^HMiMm

George Dandin, 'The Burgher, a Gentlemany and The
Comfesse d'Escarbagnas, though first produced at court,
are comedies of such distinctive merit that they fall more
naturally within the category of histrionic plays which form
the topic of a succeeding chapter, while Love as a Doctor
and The Imaginary Invalid, so essentially a part of the per-
sistent warfare Moliere waged against the quackery of his
time, are militant comedies, treated in the chapter devoted
to Moliere and the physicians. The others, Melicerte,
The Sicilian, The Magnificent Lovers, and Psyche, neither
Gallic in subject nor Molieresque in treatment, because
lacking in the quality of truth, the hallmark of Moliere's
genius, are undeserving of special comment here.

This recital of Moliere's court plays should indicate
how thoroughly he merited his pension ; not for the
surpassing nature of this form of work so much as for
his readiness " to respond quickly to the King's imme-
diate wishes." Indeed, these comedy ballets may be
passed by with the assurance that they present ample
evidence of the poet's sincerity in believing that " even
though one be ashamed of not having succeeded entirely,
one always has the glory of having promptly obeyed the
King's behest."

His court plays gave him the opportunity of winning
his monarch's good will, while in fulfilling his functions
as valet de chambre, he was brought in personal contact
with the King, and, being a shrewd observer, he might
readily have seized an opportune moment to advance his
fortunes. Yet his regard for Louis was something more
than a courtier's stratagem. In the words of M. Bazin :

2OO

MOLIERE

From the moment these two men, placed so far apart
in the social order, saw and understood each other — the
one a king freed from all restraint, the other an unequalled
comedian but still timid moralist — a tacit understanding
was established between them, permitting the subject to
dare everything, and promising him full assurance and
protection upon the sole condition that the monarch be
amused. . . . He, to whom all things were thus per-
mitted, was no knight-errant, fulfilling his mission at his
proper risk and peril, exposed to vengeance, and fearing
to be abandoned to his fate. A caprice of sovereign
power, for once enlightened, gave him confidence and
strength ; his genius gave him the rest.1

Although M. Gustave Larroumet3 is inclined to
believe that the protection Louis XIV extended to
Moliere was slighter than that shown such men as
Boileau and Racine, still, as this writer himself remarks,
" We must first of all bear in mind the state of public
opinion regarding Moliere. In the eyes of his contem-
poraries, his profession and the character of his works
created a notable difference between him and other
poets." In other words, he was an actor in an age when \
the members of his profession were social outcasts. \
That Louis was so complaisant regarding so many
trenchant satires of his courtiers is proof sufficient that
Moliere possessed the monarch's affection to a marked
degree.

Shrewd Mazarin once said of Louis that there was
" the wherewithal in him for four good kings and one
honest man." Though the truth of the first part of this
apothegm is apparent, save as regards the qualifying
adjective, the wherewithal for the one honest man might

1 Notes bistoriques sur la vie de Moliere.

2 La Com'edie de Moliere.

MOLIERE THE COURTIER 201

be a matter of considerable doubt were it not for the
King's generous treatment of his favourite comedian.
" Laughter," says Carlyle, " is the cipher-key wherewith
we decipher the whole man " ; and it was the talent of
the one to kindle, and of the other to be warmed by, the
fire of honest fun which made these geniuses of comedy
and kingship each understand the other.

202 MOLIERE

XII

THE POET MILITANT

;„

Les Precieuses ridicules Moliere, ceasing to be Italian,
became truly Gallic ; in 'The Hypocrite (Le Tartuffe)
knight-errantry appears^ Cant is the enemy, mocking
portraiture the lance; yet the play is not quixotic, for
the poet's knighthood lies solely in the boldness of his
attack upon false piety at a moment when pharisaism
was abroad in the land. The first three of this play's
five acts were produced at Versailles during the fete
known as " The Pleasures of the Enchanted Isle," and
so great was the animosity they inspired that five years
elapsed before permission was obtained for a public
performance. To understand the persecution Moliere
underwent at the hands of the clericals, a cursory glance
at his inimitable comedy is necessary.

/ The scene is laid in Paris at the house of Orgon, a
pious bourgeois who has aroused the anger of his family
bylntroducing into its midst Tartuffe, a canting devo-
tee whom he has met at church and whose unwitting
tool he has become. /Orgon's mother alone, of all his
family, has been deceived by this hypocrite's feigned

jnety. In the opening scene the wife, daughter, son,
brother-in-law, and maid-of-all-work of the atrabilious
master of the house hold an indignant though futile
meeting to rid themselves of the hateful creature which
has fastened his tentacles upon them.

THE POET MILITANT 203

Madame Pernelle, the stubborn mother, Elmire, the
artfuL-wife whose worldly knowledge is her safeguard,
Mariane, the timid daughter, Damis, the impetuous son,
Cleante, the sane and honest brother-in-law — "the
opposite of Tartuffe," to quote Sainte-Beuve, " his
counterweight" — each is a human type as distinct as
consummate art can paint it. Jjorine, too, — the confi-
dential slave of classic comedy metamorphosed into a
family servant, — is a character frank and sprightly
enough to test the powers of even the cleverest sou-
brette; while Valere, Mariane's suitor, with his flavour
of the court, adds the note of distinction so necessary
irTTmnging the bourgeoisie1 of this household into the
high light.

The most striking character is, of course, Tartuffe,
the hypocrite. The manner of his introduction is in-
deed ingenious. Throughout two acts he is only
spoken of by the other characters ; yet his presence is
always felt, and so great is the animosity created toward
him that, when he finally appears, one is only too ready
to join the cabal against him. For instance, after the
family conference has come to naught, Dorine tells
Cleante that Orgon, his brother-in-law,

Since by Tartuffe beguiled is like a dolt.
He calls him brother, and his love for him
Is full a hundredfold more deep than love
For mother, daughter, wife, or only son.
He is his one fond gossip, in good sooth,

1 M. Ch. L. Livet, writing in the Moli'eriste, February, 1880, makes
an interesting argument to prove that both Orgon and Tartuffe were
gentlemen of the court. The present writer, however, holds to the
bourgeoisie of this family, — certainly a servant of the type of Dorine
could be found only in a middle class household.

204 MOLlfiRE

The circumspect director of his deeds,

Whom he caresses, hugs more tenderly,

I swear, than any mistress might expect.

At table in the foremost seat he 's placed,

And joyfully he sees him eat for six ;

Makes others cede him all the choicest bits,

And if he belches, cries, «« God bless you, friend !"

In short, he is a fool, whose only hero

Is this one man who has become his all ;

Whose every word he hangs upon or quotes

As from an oracle, whose slightest act

Appears to him a miracle divine.

The other, knowing well his dupe, makes most

Of him, confounding him in fivescore ways,

And dazzling him so shrewdly that each hour

He pharisaically steals his coin,

Boldly proclaiming right to chide us all.

This sanctimonious scoundrel's portrait is again painted
when Orgon himself, returning from a visit to the
country, inquires anxiously after his beloved friend, and,
learning from Dorine that " he is marvellously well, —
fat, sleek, with ruddy cheek and rosy lip," exclaims
most tenderly, " Poor man ! " Hearing that his wife had
no appetite the previous night, although Tartuffe, sup-
ping with her tete-a-tete, devoutly ate a brace of par-
tridges and half a leg of hashed mutton, the dupe again
cries, " Poor man ! " and when he learns that although
his wife was bled, Tartuffe bore the ordeal so nobly that
he drank four draughts of wine to make up for the blood
she had lost, he exclaims in one final outburst of com-
passion, " Poor man ! "

To realise fully the insidious way in which the canting
villain of this play has hoodwinked his benefactor, one
must turn to the description Orgon gives Cleante, his
brother-in-law, of their first meeting:

THE POET MILITANT 205

You would be glad to know him, brother dear, —

Your ecstasy would never have an end.

He is a man . . . who ... ah ! ... a man . .. a man

In short, who following his precepts well

Enjoys a mind of perfect peace, and treats

The world as so much dirt. Since converse with him

I *m wholly changed. He separates my soul

From friendships dear, instructing me to love

Nothing of earth ; so with least pain I *d bear

The death of brother, mother, children, wife.

CL&ANTE
My brother, those are human sentiments !

ORGON

Ah, had you seen him as I saw him first

With me you would have shared this love profound!

Each day to church he came with humble air

To kneel and face me, draw the eyes of all

Upon him by the fervour of his prayers

To God. He sighed, and in a transport deep

Kissed him the earth with ardour meek, unceasing,

Rising when I did, following in my steps,

Proffering holy water at the door.

His serving lad, who imitates him well

In everything, told me his poverty,

And who he was. I made him little gifts,

But, shrinking, he would e'er return a part.

"It is too much/' he said, «« too much by half,

I am unworthy of your sympathy,'*

And when I would not take my largess back,

He gave it to the poor, before my eyes.

At last, inspired by holy light, I brought

Him to my house ; and from that blessed day

All 's prosperous here. He censures everything,

And even of my honour takes great care ;

For when bold wooers glance upon my wife,

Quick warning of the peril comes to me —

My jealousy he multiplies sixfold.

206 MOLIERE

The height to which his zeal doth carry him
You *d scarce believe : within himself he deems
A trifle mortal sin. Why, yesterday,
He blamed himself for killing, while at prayer,
A flea, in anger too tempestuous.

After presenting this picture of pharisaism, Moliere,
fearing no doubt, its effect, is careful to portray the
difference between hypocrisy and piety in the scene
where Cleante, seeking to undeceive his brother-in-law,
tells Orgon that —

Just as some to bravery make pretence,

So in religion there are hypocrites.

Yet as the hero makes but little noise

When honour calls, the truly pious man,

Whose footsteps we should tread, makes no grimace.

This sane reasoning fails, however, of its object ; likewise
Cleante's efforts in behalf of Mariane and Valere, the
lovers for whose happiness he had been commissioned in
an earlier scene to plead. When he broaches the sub-
ject of their marriage, Tartuffe's dupe is evasive.
Hinting that he will fulfil the will of Heaven in dis-
posing of his daughter's hand, he leaves Cleante appre-
hensive of some mishap to Mariane's love, — a fear soon
realised ; for in an opening scene of the second act
Orgon tells Mariane that he has selected Tartuffe to be
her husband. This announcement causes Dorine the
maid to assert that " a man who weds his daughter to a
husband she loathes is responsible to Heaven for her
sins " ; yet in spite of the wisdom of a doctrine French
parents in general might so well take to heart, Orgon
tells Mariane:

In short, my child, you must obedience pay,
And to my choice the fullest deference show.

THE POET MILITANT 207

Dorine chides her too submissive mistress for " per-
mitting such a foolish proposition to be made without a
protest"; but Mariane, a French jeunefille par excellence y
though acknowledging her love for Valere, prefers death
to disobedience, because, to quote her own words,

A father, I confess, such empery holds
No hardihood was mine to make reply.

Valere, however, does not so readily adhere to the fifth
commandment. On learning of his betrothed's submis-
sion to her father's will, he parts from her in high
dudgeon, only to return, lover-like, before he is even out
of the house, and become reconciled through DorineiS
intervention, learning at the same time from that sage
domestic's lips that "all lovers are fools," and from
Mariane' s that —

I cannot answer for my father's will ;
Yet I shall marry no one but Valere.

This reassurance, accompanied by Dorine's discreet
suggestion to the lovers that "one had better go this
way, and the other that," brings the second act to a
close. The third begins with a tempest of rage at the
proposed marriage of his sister, on the part of Orgon's
hotheaded son, Damis. " May lightning finish me on
the spot ! " he exclaims, " may I be proclaimed the
greatest rascal alive, if any respect or authority hinders
me from doing something rash. ... I must stop this
fellow's schemes ! " " Softly," whispers politic Dorine.
" Leave both him and your father to your step-mother
— she has influence with Tartuffe. ... In short, she
has sent for him to sound him upon this marriage."

Damis, insisting upon playing the eavesdropper at this

208 MOLlfeRE

interview, hides in a closet just as Tartuffe appears in
propria persona. Throughout two acts this wretch has
hung in the wings like a cresset of woe, shedding a bale-
ful light upon the other characters. When his voice is
heard, speaking " off stage " to his servant, there is no
doubt that he is Tartuffe, the hypocrite:

My scourge and haircloth shirt, you Ml put away ;
Pray then to Heaven, Laurent, for its light.
Should callers come, you Ml say I 'm at the gaol
Giving away the alms I have received.

" What affectation, what boasting ! " Dorine exclaims,
and, being about to address him, Tartuffe restrains her
until he has covered her bare neck with his handkerchief,
" lest by such sights the soul be wounded and evil
thoughts awakened."

When Orgon's wife appears, the full depth of the
hypocrite's perfidy is made apparent. Being asked if it
is true that her husband wishes to give him her step-
daughter's hand, he replies that such a hint has been
made him, but that he " has beheld elsewhere the mar-
vellous attractions of the bliss which forms the sole object
of his desires." His hypocritical love-making and El-
mire's naive manner of extracting the secret of his villainy
are best told in the words of the play :

ELMIRE

I know full well your sighs toward Heaven tend,
And nothing here below your passion stirs.

TARTUFFE

The love we feel for everlasting grace,
Our love for earthly beauty leaves unquenched.
By Heaven's work, our senses soon are charmed
Most readily. Within your sex its light

THE POET MILITANT 409

Reflected shines : in you its glories are
Displayed ; for in your face it has disclosed
Consummate miracles, our eyes to dazzle,
Our hearts to thrill. O creature most superb,
I 've never seen your charms, but I beheld
The Author of us all, and felt my heart
Beat hard with soul-entrancing love for you,
The perfect portrait painted of Himself.
At first I felt this secret love might prove
A devil's snare ; so fearing you might be
A bar to my salvation, my poor heart
Resolved your eyes so beautiful to spurn.
That passion such as mine could be no sin
I knew at last, thou too engaging beauty,
And saw that I might well conciliate
My love with purity ; and that is how
My heart abandoned all. I know indeed
It is audacity beyond compare
To tender you that heart ; but I expect
From goodness such as yours, infinity,
And nothing from the weakness of my love.
My hope is you, my peace, my happiness !
On you depends my bliss, my torment, too ;
For by your sole decree my fate is sealed —
Happiness or misery as you please.

ELMIRE

Your declaration is, forsooth, gallant ;
But most astounding, too, to say the least.
Far better you should arm your heart, methinks,
And ponder somewhat on your rash design.
A devotee like you, proclaimed by all —

TARTUFFE

Though devotee, I 'm none the less a man.
On first beholding beauty heavenly
As yours, a heart will yield but cannot reason.
I know that such discourse surpassing strange
Must seem from me ; but after all, Madame,
I am no angel, so, if you condemn

210 MOLIERE

My declaration, you must blame your charms.

As soon as I beheld your superhuman

Loveliness, you became the sovereign dear

Who rules my soul. Your glance divine broke down

With godlike sweetness my resisting heart,

Conquering everything — my fasting, prayer,

And tears, — and turned unto your beauty all

My vows. Each look, each sigh, has told you this

A thousand times, until, to tell it better,

I must my voice employ. If you, benign,

Will gaze upon the sorrows of your slave,

Unworthy me, if your sweet charity

Will solace, if you '11 stoop to nothingness

Like me, I shall ever love you, most sweet

Miracle, with a love unparalleled.

Your honour's safe with me, you need not fear

Disgrace. Those courtiers whom your sex adores,

Are boastful of their deeds, and vain of word.

The favours they receive are soon divulged.

Their wagging tongues betray and desecrate

The sacrificial altar of their passion ;

But love burns prudently in men like me —

For ever is the secret wisely kept.

The care we take to guard our honour's name

Is shield enough unto the one adored :

In us you '11 find when you accept our hearts,

Love without scandal, pleasure without fear.

Having led Tartuffe thus to avow himself, Elmire, by
promising not to divulge his passion to her husband, is
on the point of making him renounce Mariane's hand,
when Damis, rushing from his hiding-place, exclaims in
blundering anger, " No, madame, no, this shall be made
public ! " and despite Elmire's endeavours to prevent
scandal, goes forthwith to undeceive his father and " lay
bare the heart of a villain." When Orgon asks Tartuffe
if " what he has heard is true," that worthy, feigning
humility, convinces the dupe of his innocence by the
very frankness of his confession :

THE POET MILITANT an

Yes, my brother, I am a wretched sinner,

Guilty, corrupt, and with defilement stained —

The greatest scoundrel of all time ; for all

My life is tainted with impurity

And a mere slough of sin and filthiness.

I see that Heaven for my punishment

Means now to mortify me; so whatever

The crime with which I may be charged, no wish

Nor vanity have I to exculpate

Myself. Believe the cry of scandal, arm

Your indignation, drive me from your hearth

A felon proved ! For what disgrace soe'er

Is heaped upon me, I have earned still more.

This master-stroke of self-depreciation turns Orgon's
wrath upon Tartuffe's accuser. "Traitor," he cries to
his son, " dare you tarnish the purity of his virtue by this
falsehood "; then, denouncing children, wife, and servants
as " a pack conspiring to drive a pious man from the
house," he announces that Mariane shall wed his friend
forthwith. When Damis refuses to kneel and beg for-
giveness of Tartuffe, the infuriated Orgon turns his con-
tumacious son out of the house ; and in proof of his
confidence bids Tartuffe be frequently seen with his wife,
and straightway swears he '11 deed him all his property ;
" for," as he says, " the faithful and honest friend whom
I take for a son-in-law is dearer to me than son, wife, or
parents." " Heaven's will be done ! " the hypocrite ex-
claims as the curtain falls upon this picture of credulity
and guile, painted so truthfully that we see and know
hypocrisy for evermore.

Two more acts were added after the first performance
at Versailles. In one, Elmire convinces Orgon of Tar-
tuffe's villainy by inducing her stubborn lord to hide
beneath a table while his friend avows his unholy passion ;
in the other, Tartuffe, unmasked, attempts to turn his

212 MOLIERE

benefactor out of house and home by means of a bailiff
of his own cloth, and a writ of possession taken under the
deed of gift of Orgon's fortune. He even accuses his
dupe of high treason on evidence confided to him in
trust ; but coming with an officer to arrest him, he, in-
stead, is borne to prison.

In arresting this arch-hypocrite, the officer pays the
following subtle tribute to the King :

A prince, the mortal enemy of fraud,

Rules over us — a prince whose eyes all hearts

Illuminate, and are themselves deceived

By no impostor's art. With judgment rare

Endowed, his splendid soul surveys all things

With equity, and is by passion ne'er

Led far afield ; nor sinks his reason firm

To any base excess. For worthy men

Immortal fame he holds ; unblinded burns

His zeal, while love for truth ne'er shuts his heart

Against the horror falsehood should excite.

After explaining that the monarch thus praised has de-
tected TartufFe in his villainy, the officer tells Orgon that
the deed of his property is annulled and his supposed
treason pardoned. This is certainly a trite method of
untying a clever knot ; yet it is idle to criticise a master-
piece. The Hypocrite is one of the great comedies of the
world, and will ever live as containing an abhorrent pic-
ture of human duplicity. Never, save in The Misanthrope,
did Moliere's genius rise to such a height.

To understand the sensation this comedy created, a
glance at the religious situation is necessary. There were
then two parties within the French church, — the Jesuits
and the Jansenists. The former were men of the world,
seeking to guide religion along expedient paths ; the
latter, deriving their name from Jansen, a reformer who

THE POET MILITANT 213

died in 1638, were Puritan idealists demanding church
reform. The Jesuits denounced Jansen's denial of the
freedom of will and the possibility of man resisting grace
— a creed not unlike Calvinism — as heresy, and when
the Holy See issued a bull of condemnation against these
doctrines in 1653, the Jansenists, in retreat at their con-
vent at Port Royal, were led by Arnauld d'Andilly to wage
such a wordy warfare of defence that they became the ob-
ject of violent persecution. Though bravely defended
by Pascal in his famous Provincial Letters (Lettres pro-
vinciales\ Arnauld was expelled from the Sorbonne and
eventually driven from France ; nevertheless, he was
upheld by a large party, including some sixteen bish-
ops and twenty doctors of the Sorbonne, while many
prominent nobles, the Prince de Conti, Moliere's for-
mer protector, among them, were zealous converts to
Jansenism.

During this controversy religious animosity ran high ;
and JV^oHere's play appearing in the midst of it, each
party discovered in Tartuffe a portrait of the other. His
scourge and haircloth shirt might easily pass for a skit
upon the austerities practised at Port Royal ; yet his
philosophy is Jesuitical, according to the popular defini-
tion of that company 's casuistry. For instance, the
following logic used by Tartuffe to tempt Elmire from
the paths of virtue, while her husband listens beneath a
table, has frequently been considered a travesty upon the
Jesuitical doctrine of Direction of Intention:

Those idle fears, Madame, I can dispel ;
I know the art of pacifying doubts.
Some pleasures, truly, are inhibited
By God ; yet easily with Him we can
Accommodate ourselves. To stretch the bonds

2i4 MOLIERE

Of conscience in accordance with our needs

And reconcile the evil of an act

With purity of purpose is a science.

These secrets I '11 impart to you, Madame :

Be led by me, my passion gratify,

And have no further fear. I 'm liable

For all ; upon myself I take the sin.1

Tartuffe might readily pass for a Jesuit among that
society's enemies]; to the present generation, at least,
there is little in his character suggesting Arnauld or his
zealous followers, — by far the most sincere churchmen
of their day. In the seventeenth century, however, the
Jansenists, a radical opposition minority in church politics,
were held in a very different light by their conservative
opponents ; moreover, they were violent enemies of the
theatre, even advocating its abolition ; hence the natural
foes of Moliere. M. Mesnard 2 cites a statement by Bros-
sette to the effect that " the King hated the Jansenists,
whom he regarded ... for the most part, as the real
subjects of Moliere' s comedy," and quotes the Abbe Joly
as saying that " many people have pretended Moliere
had Port Royal in mind, and particularly M. Arnauld
d'Andilly, who is satirised in the scene where Tartuffe
says he has devoutly eaten two partridges and half a leg
of hashed mutton."

Roquette, a fashionable churchman who was " Maza-
rin's man-of-all-work and a servant of the Jesuits/' was
thought by some of his contemporaries to have been
Tartuffe's original ; likewise Charpy, Sieur de Sainte-

1 M. Auger (CEuvres de Moliere] calls attention to the scene in Act
V, where Orgon, in speaking of Tartuffe, uses the expression " sous
un beau semblant" as savouring of a Jesuitical doctrine, on "Mental
Restrictions."

8 CEuvres de Moliere.

THE POET MILITANT 215

Croix. Tallemant des Reaux, too, recounts the declara-
tion of a certain Abbe de Pons to Ninon de Lenclos as
having inspired the line :

Though devotee, I *m none the less a man.

Furtnermore, the Duchesse de Longueville, a fervent
Jansenist, has been indicated as the Elmire to whom
Tartuffe paid his suit ; while the Prince de Conti has
been called the original of Orgon. It has remained for
a modern writer, however, to propound the theory that
Moliere's comedy was written at the express command
of Louis XIV to ridicule the Jansenists.1

These attempts to discover the original of Tartuffe
are, in reality, unwitting compliments to the poet's
genius. Each man saw his neighbour portrayed, — a
fact well indicated in a letter of Racine's regarding a
reading of the play at the Duchesse de Longueville's,
postponed on account of the expulsion of some Jansen-
ist nuns from their convent. " These people have been
told," says Racine, referring to the Jansenists, " that the
Jesuits had been satirised in this comedy," but he adds
that the Jesuits " flattered themselves it was aimed at the
Jansenists."

Tartuffe's original was, in all probability, not an indi-
vidual or sect, but a peculiar kind of pharisee known as
a director of conscience (directeur de conscience] which the
religious revival of Louis XIV's reign had brought into
fashion. Often a layman like Tartuffe, the director of
conscience was employed by wealthy families in addition
to the confessor as a spiritual guide charged with the
regulation of its members' daily actions. The women
were apparently his chief care ; for, according to La

1 Le Tartuffe par ordre de Louis Xlf by Louis Lacour.

216 MOLIERE

Bruyere,1 " they confided to him their joys, griefs, hopes,
and jealousies, their hatreds and their loves," while he
was seen with them " in their carriages, in the streets,
and on the promenade, and seated beside them at church
and in the theatre." Certainly such a personage is
nearer the reality of Moliere's hypocrite than any Jan-
senist or Jesuit partisan. That the poet had these pro-
fessional conscience directors in mind, is evinced by the
following lines, spoken by Cleante in contempt of the
class to which Tartuffe belonged :

Those downright cheats, those devotees for hire
Whose sacrilegious and deceitful smirks
Revile the sacred, holiest precepts
Of mankind, boldly making them a jest —
Those men with soul by interest subdued
Who make both wares and calling of their faith,
Who by false glances and feigned rapture seek
Both dignities and confidence to buy.8

Furthermore, Dorine speaks of Tartuffe as the " circum-
spect director " of Orgon's deeds (de ses actions le di-
rect eur prudent), while that hypocrite himself, when telling
Elmire that " love burns prudently in men like me,"
speaks of himself as belonging to a class, by using we
and us instead of the more natural pronouns / and me?

1 Les Caracteres.

a Alexis Veselovsky in a Study of Tartuffe (Etudy o Molierie. Tar-
tuffe. Ltoria tipa i piesy. Monograpbia. Aleksieia Veselovskayo),
published in Moscow in 1879, treats the possible originals of Moliere's
hypocrites, particularly the directors of conscience, exhaustively. Having
no knowledge of Russian, the present writer has only been able to
gather Mr. Veselovsky 's views, second hand, by means of French reviews.
Mr. Henry M. Trollope, too, in his The Life of Mol&re discusses the
directors of conscience at considerable length, and presents some thoughtful
conclusions, indicating that they were the originals of Moliere's Tartuffe.
* Sec page 208.

THE POET MILITANT 217

The latest theory regarding the original of Tartuffe
is advanced by M. Raoul Allier.1 According to this
writer there had existed in France since 1627 a religious
body called the Society of the Holy Sacrament, — not a
sect, but an association of men and women within the
church working for moral purity and the strict observ-
ance of religion. Founded upon high moral principles,
this organisation, though counting among its members
many people of high standing, gradually became an
asylum for hypocrites ; and it was against these that
Moliere, according to M. Allier, directed his satire.
The peculiar wording of Dorine's speech in which she
refers to Tartuffe as "the circumspect director" of
Orgon's deeds would indicate that the director of con-
science was the original of Moliere's Tartuffe. However,
the members of the Society of the Holy Sacrament were
doubtless spiritual directors as well.

That hypocrites, such as Tartuffe, were rife at the time
is indicated in a story told by the Abbe de Chateauneuf,2
about a reading of the play to Ninon de Lenclos which
caused her to sketch a portrait from life of a hypocrite of
the same stamp as Tartuffe, with whom she had just
had an adventure. This was painted in such " lively
colours," to quote the Abbe, " that if the play had not
been written, Moliere avowed he would not have under-
taken it, so incapable was he of putting on the stage
anything as perfect as Ninon's Tartuffe."

The name Tartuffe is another indication that Moliere's
satire was aimed at hypocrites in general rather than at a
particular sect. In Old French, according to M. Mes-
nard, the word truffe signified deceit^ and when used to

1 La Cabale des devots.

3 Dialogue sur la musique de$ ancient

2i8 MOLIERE

denote a truffle was written tartufle (in Italian tartufd).
So perfect was Moliere's picture of hypocrisy that tartufe,
written with one /, has become a French word signi-
fying " hypocrite." In this connection M. Littre, the
lexicographer, says :

Moliere, who spelt it Tartuffe, borrowed the word
from the Italian, Tartufo being used in Lippe's Mai-
mantile in the sense of a man of evil mind.1

This reference to Malmantile leads to the inevitable
discussion of the sources from which Moliere drew his
play. Regnier's Macette, an Italian comedy called The
Hypocrite (L'Ipocrito) by Pietro Aretino, a farce called
The Hypocritical Doctor (II Dot tor bacchettone) attributed
to Bonvicino Gioannelli, another called The Basilisk of
Bernagasso (II Basilisco del Bernagasso) and The Novel
of the Hypocrites (La Nouvelle des Hypocrites) by Scar-
ron are various anterior satires of hypocrisy in which
scholars have discovered some likeness to The Hypocrite.
Boccaccio, too, has been haled into court; yet Moliere's
comedy is convincing evidence that in literature it is not
a crime to steal. The crime lies in not bettering the
stolen goods, — an offence which can never be laid at our
poet's door. In the words of Lessing : " The public has
no interest in learning where Moliere finds his subjects to
divert it. c If it be by theft/ the public assures itself, ( we
humbly and politely pray the other poets to be so kind
as to steal in the same way/ '

After the first three acts were played at Versailles on

1 Lippe's Malmantile wns not printed until 1676, but is stated to have
been circulated in manuscript in France previous to that date. M. H.
Monin in the Molieriste, July, 1 866, urges that tartuffe is derived from
eartuflet — a word used in the South of France to signify *' potato" —
German, kartoffel .

THE POET MILITANT 219

1664, <The Hypocrite was attacked so strenu-
ously on the ground of impiety that the King forbade
its public representation, although permitting the author
to read and even perform it in society. The Court
Gazette announced that " His Majesty, fully enlightened
in everything, considered it absolutely injurious to reli-
gion, and capable of producing the most dangerous con-
sequences," yet the official description of " The Pleasures
of the Enchanted Isle " conveys the impression that the
King's proscription was inspired solely by state polity.

The impression that the King's proscription was polit-
ically inspired is further substantiated by the permission
he gave Moliere to read his play before Chigi, the papal
legate, at Fontainebleau during the summer of 1664.
This prelate, officially engaged in the distribution of
indulgences, apparently granted one to Moliere's play,
since in the first of three petitions to the King for per-
mission to play The Hypocrite in public, the poet speaks
of having won the approbation of Monsieur le Legat.

Almost simultaneously with this reading before the
emissary of the Holy See, Pierre Roulle, a doctor of the
Sorbonne and priest of the parish of St. Bartholomew,
announced in print that —

A man, or rather a demon clothed in the flesh yet
dressed as a man, and the most notorious and ungodly
libertine the world has ever known, has been so impious
as to send forth from his diabolical mind a play now
ready to be given to the public by being played at his
theatre, which scoffs at the entire church, and derides the
most sacred character, the most divine function, and all
that is holiest in the church.1

1 Le Rot glorieux au monde ou Louis XI V le plus glorieux de tous
Us rots du monde,

220 MOLlfiRE

Furthermore, this outraged churchman assures us that
the King, besides proscribing The Hypocrite, had ordered
Moliere, " under pain of death, to tear, stifle, and burn
all of it that he had written."

Roulle's sentiments were apparently father to his state-
ments; since, far from executing this sentence, the King
permitted three acts of Moliere's comedy to be played at
Villers-Cotterets in September before the Due d'Orleans
and members of the royal family; while in November
the entire play was performed for the great Conde at
Raincy.1

From the first the victor of Rocroy had been a par-
tisan of Moliere's comedy. In the preface to its first
edition the author himself tells us that the King, having
asked Conde why a comedy called Scaramouche a Hermit
(Scaramouche ermite) failed to irritate the people who
were so greatly scandalised by The Hypocrite, the soldier
replied that :

" Scaramouche laughs at Heaven and religion, about
which these gentlemen care nothing; while Moliere's
comedy laughs at themselves, — a thing they cannot
tolerate."

Conde's epigram sounds the key-note of the persecu-
tion to which Moliere was subjected. The hypocrites
could ill afford to be laughed at ; therefore, to shield

1 The 1682 edition of Moli&re's works states that The Hypocrite,
"perfect, entire, and finished in five acts," was performed at this rime ;
and La Grange in his Registre says : «' Le Tar tuff e, in five acts, was
played there [Raincy]." On the other hand, M. Louis Moland (Vie
de J.-B. P. Moliere) quotes a contemporary letter signed by Henry
Jules de Bourbon, indicating that the last two acts were still unfinished ;
M. Moland, however, as well as M. Mesnard, is of the opinion that the
five acts were performed at Raincy.

THE POET MILITANT 221

themselves, they attacked this play on the ground of
impiety. Louis, on the other hand, though relishing
Moliere's satire, found it politic not to add fuel to a
religious conflagration already raging; so The Hypocrite
was prohibited, — a most kingly policy, since Napoleon,
certainly a less religious monarch than Louis, has been
quoted as saying that, had the play been written in his
day, he would not have permitted its representation.1

Moliere had already fought a skirmish with the hypo-
crites over The School for Wives ; yet, undaunted by this
baptism of fire, he marshalled his forces anew against
these most despicable of human beings. To quote the
words of his preface :

All the hypocrites have armed themselves against my
comedy with appalling fury ; yet they have taken care not
to attack it on the side which wounds them ; for they are
too politic for that, and Jcnow the world too well to lay
bare their souls> Following their praiseworthy habit,
they "have cloaked their interests with the cause of
Heaven ; so The Hypocrite on their lips becomes a play
which offends piety.

This indicates clearly the lines on which the pharisees
waged war. In the first petition Moliere presented to
the King he outlines his own attitude thus :

I believe that I can do nothing better than attack the
vices of my time with ridiculous likenesses ; and as
hypocrisy is, without doubt, one of the most common,
the most disagreeable, and the most dangerous of these,
I thought, Sire, that I was rendering a not unimportant
service to the honest people of your kingdom.

This is the challenge of a knight couched in the
language of a courtier. Ever too politic to offend his

1 Memorial de Sainte-Helene.

222 MOLIERE

sovereign, Moliere flattered Louis in the denouement of
The Hypocrite by calling him "the mortal enemy of
fraud," l and in the three petitions in which he asked
permission to present his comedy, addressed him in a
tone of frankness, not to say familiarity, showing a con-
viction that the King at heart approved of his satire
pn hypocrisy.

\/ There is space only to indicate the chief battles in the
war Moliere fought for the right to present his play in
public. It began when The Hypocrite was proscribed,
and lasted until the poet emerged triumphant. Three
years after his comedy was prohibited, Moliere suddenly
placed it upon the boards of his theatre (August fifth,
1667), under the title of The Impostor (L'Imposteur),
with Tartuffe's name changed to Panulphe, and his
sombre garments of a director of conscience discarded
for the brocades and plumes of a courtier. It was the
summer season and the King was absent in Flanders :
yet Monsieur de Lamoignon, president of the board of
police, promptly closed the theatre. Nothing daunted,
Moliere despatched two of his comedians, La Thorilliere
and La Grange, to the camp before Lille with a petition
to his Majesty in which the poet assured Louis that " if
the hypocrites should win, he would no longer dream of
writing comedy."

The King sustained the authorities in their action, but
gave Moliere's emissaries oral assurance that eventually
The Hypocrite would be played. Meantime the relig-
ionists continued the war. Moliere's most bitter oppo-
nent was Hardouin de Perefixe, archbishop of Paris, who,
according to Brossette, " placed himself at the head of

1 See page 212.

THE POET MILITANT 223

the devotees." This prelate decided to render the police
proscription doubly sure by forbidding the Christians
of his diocese " to act Le T'artuffe — whatever the name
of the said comedy might be — to read it, or hear it read,
under pain of excommunication." This interdiction was
posted on the door of every church in the diocese of
Paris, and, as if this were not sufficient anathema, a
Jansenist pamphleteer named Adrien Baillet declared
Moliere to be " one of the most dangerous enemies the
century or the world had aroused against the church,"
while Bourdaloue, at least a worthy foe, pronounced ¥he
Hypocrite "one of those damnable inventions intended
to humiliate worthy people and render them liable to
suspicion." l

These attacks told upon Moliere's health. During
the summer of 1667 he fell ill and his theatre was closed
for seven weeks. Finally his indomitable persistence was
rewarded. After Clement IX had restored the Jansenist
bishops to papal favour, Moliere petitioned the King for
the third time for permission to play his comedy, and
Louis, finding a temporary calm upon the religious sea,
restored {The Hypocrite to the stage by the royal decree
of February fifth, 1669.

~ So great was the curiosity aroused in the public mind
by this five years* controversy that the receipts of the
theatre reached the phenomenal sum of two thousand
eight hundred and sixty livres at the first performance ;
the crowd about the doors of the Palais Royal becoming
so immense that, in the words of a chronicler, " cloaks
and sides were both torn," — a striking proof that the
enmity of the church is the best advertisement a play
can receive.

1 Sermon sur rbypocrisie.

224 MOLIERE

Hypocrite was not the sole missile discharged by
Moliere against the ramparts of hypocrisy. Within a
year after it had been interdicted he had placed upon
the boards (February fifteenth, 1665) Don Juan; or, The
Feast of Stone (Don Juan, ou le festin de pierre), a five-
act comedy in prose founded upon a Spanish play by
Tirso de Molina.1

The Spanish work told with impressive sombreness
the legend of Don Juan Tenorio, a Sevillian rake
dragged to everlasting torment by the statue of the man
he had murdered after betraying his daughter. Mozart's
opera has made this story too familiar to need repetition
here. Indeed, it was equally well known when Moliere's
play appeared; for two Frenchmen, Dorimond and
Villiers by name, had each written a version in verse,
while in Italy there were at least three Don Juans upon
the contemporary stage.2

Whether Moliere modelled his play after Tirso de
Molina or after one of the Spaniard's foreign imitators,
is a matter of slight consequence. He wrote it, so the
story goes, at the urgent request of his comrades, and
most likely the material he used was as international as
the legend of Don Juan Tenorio's misdeeds, though
the lightness of his touch, at least, is suggestive of the
Italian Don Juans rather than Molina's more lugu-
brious Sevillian. Moliere's rake is essentially Gallic ;
his other characters truly of the soil of France. In-
deed, our interest in this comedy lies in its vigorous
.cterisation.

\[ em

1 El burlador de Sevilla y combldado de piedra.

2 George Bernard Shaw's play, Man and Superman, is the most mod-
ern version of this ancient theme.

THE POET MILITANT 225

Though less masterful than its predecessor as litera-
ture, it bears equally the hall mark of dramatic genius.
To quote M. Louis Moland :

Don Juan tends more and more to fill a higher place
in Moliere's works. True, it is not written with such
incomparable art as 'The Misanthrope or The Hypocrite
. . . yet Moliere's conception is presented with extra-
ordinary boldness ; his genius has never shown itself at
once so independent and vigorous. . . . This comedy is
a world fully set in motion by the impetus of the main
idea creating it and giving it life. All classes of society
pass in turn before our eyes. The unity lies in the
foundation, not in the design. The same breath ani-
mates all its characters ; the same atmosphere surrounds
them ; moreover, around them a sublime space prevails.
It is quite in Shakespeare's mighty style.1

In this passage M. Moland touches the dominant
note ; for of all M^^

suggestive of Shakespeare. The pernicious unities of
time and place, so long a fetich of French dramatists, are
cast to the four winds ; for the scene shifts from sea-
coast and forest to interior and tomb with a disregard of
Aristotle worthy of the Bard of Avon. Still there is unity
of^ action. Each incident, incongruous as it may at first
appear, furthers the story of a rake's progress to perdi-
tion. Atmosphere and action furnish the exposition.
Complications, catastrophe, and denouement are subordi-
nated to character painting ; yet there is more movement
in Don Juan than in any of Moliere's comedies, — move-
ment of scene, movement of incident, tempered by the
author's marvellous gift of characterisation. As M.
Moland truly says, " all classes of society pass before

1 Vie de J.-B. P. MoMre.

226 MOLIERE

our eyes," — patricians, rakes, paupers, peasants, spadas-
sins, flunkies, tradesmen, and even ghosts are projected
upon the scene with the veracity of a vitascope. It is
the psychology of society, rich in unerring touches, but
society droning a chorus, as in a Greek play ; for the
characters, to whom all else is subordinated, are Don
Juan and his servant, Sganarelle. Even the latter isjier
signed as a foil to the impious rake, his master; since
Sganarelle's cunning, superstition, and qualms of con-
science form part of Moliere's dominant idea that " a
great lord who is a wicked man is a terrible thing/'

A railer and a debauchee, riding rough-shod over man-
kind with birthright for his steed — a rake, a seducer,
a conscienceless murderer, without faith or respect, yet
replete with personal charm ; a man with ev^^ yig^juid
but the single virtue — courage"; m short, this Don
Juan is a grand seigneur of the old regime, ruthlessly
asserting his seigneurial right while starving peasants
beat the swamps throughout the night to keep the frogs
from croaking. His creed that " two and two make
four, and four and four make eight," is the essence of
atheism. His admonition to his father to " die as soon
as possible as the best thing he can do," is inspired by
his egoistic theory that "every one must have his turn,"
— a doctrine that in the succeeding century found French
expression in the apothegm " After me, the deluge."

This libertine's ideas of love are in keeping with his
egoism :

Would you have a man bind himself for ever to the
first object which has caught his fancy, renounce the
world for her sake, and have eyes for no other woman ?
A fine thing to pique one's self upon, the false honour of
being faithful. . . . No, no, constancy is only fit for

THE POET MILITANT 227

fools ... as for me, beauty delights me wherever I
meet it ... What matters it if I am pledged else-
where ; the love I feel for one fair lady does not per-
suade my heart to do injustice to others ; I have eyes to
see the merit of each, and I pay to each the homage and
tribute nature demands. . . . Budding desires, after all,
have an indescribable charm, and the chief pleasure of
love is in variety. . . . Yet when once I am master,
there is nothing more to say, nothing more to wish ; all
the joys of passion are over, and I am lulled to sleep by
the tranquillity of such a love. ... In short, there is
nothing so sweet as to triumph over the resistance of a
pretty girl. Under such circumstances I am inspired
by the ambition of a conqueror, flying perpetually from
victory to victory, and unable to set bounds to his long-
ing. Nothing can restrain the impetuosity of my de-
sires; I feel I have a heart capable of loving all the
world, and, like Alexander, I could sigh for other worlds
wherein to extend my amorous conquests.

This " greatest rascal the earth has ever held," as
Sganarelle calls his master, "this madman, dog, devil,
Turk, and heretic who believes in neither Heaven, Hell,
nor werewolf/* stalks brave as a paladin through
danger with scorn upon his lip and a hand upon his
rapier. " Nothing is capable of inspiring terror in me,"
he cries in the face of a spectre foreshadowing his doom.
" With my sword I shall prove if it be body or ghost."
" No, no ! " he tells Sganarelle, as the spirit vanishes ; "it
shall never be said of me, no matter what happens, that
I am capable of repenting. Come, follow me ! "

Byron, a libertine himself, idealised Don Juan.
Moliere paints this arch-seducer — symbol of the vices
of the old nobility — in remorseless colours, yet pays full
homage to patrician bravery. When the statue of the
man he has wronged and murdered asks if he has courage

228 MOLIERE

to sup with him, Don Juan accepts without a moment's
hesitation; when his sepulchral host demands his hand,
he extends it boldly, though it means to clasp the hand
of death. As the earth opens to engulf him, no cry of
fear escapes his lips. What a portrait of the debonair
noble of a century later, mounting the scaffold with a
smile upon his vitiated face !

When hell's lightning flashes to extol his master's
doom, servile, superstitious, tricky Sganarelle exclaims :

Alas ! my wages, my wages ! Everyone is satisfied
by his death : offended Heaven, violated laws, seduced
maidens, dishonoured families, outraged parents, injured
wives, husbands driven to despair — all are satisfied.
I, alone, am miserable — my wages, my wages, my
wages ! l

When there were no more wages, the people, " driven
to despair," whom Sganarelle here symbolises, arose to
avenge those violated laws ! Then the feast of stone
became the feast of the guillotine.

There is one false note in this picture of the old re-
gime. Moliere's Don Juan becomes a hypocrite in his
last hour, because, as he says, "hypocrisy is a fashionable
vice, and all fashionable vices pass for virtues." The
poet should have left hypocrisy to Tartuffe ; it ill be-
comes patrician Don Juan. A man who boldly acclaims
himself incapable of repentance, who faces death with
unflinching courage, is not a hypocrite. Aristocrats are

1 Rochemont, a contemporary, in his Observations sur une com'edie de
Moliere intitul'ee le Festin de Pierre, 1665, mentions Sganarelle's plaint
about his lost wages as one of the impious passages of the play ; and so
does a pamphlet written in response to Rochemont. After the first per-
formance Moliere was obliged to alter this speech, although M. Louis
Moland and M. Mesnard both point out that it occurred in Cicognini's
Italian version and consequently was not original with Moliere.

THE POET MILITANT 229

gamblers, rakes, libertines, debauchees, and atheists, if
you like, but hypocrisy, thriving upon material gain, is
essentially middle class. The hypocrites of France were
the parasites of humble origin who used religion as a
stepping-stone to power ; not the debauched nobles, like
Don Juan, fearing neither man nor God. Don Juan,
exclaiming that hypocrisy is a " privileged vice," that " a
man who is no fool adapts himself to the vices of his
age," is Moliere preaching ex cathedra to his enemies.

This second attack upon hypocrisy reawakened the
bitterness aroused by the first. Don Juan's atheism
and impenitence were scandalous, Sganarelle's burlesque
lamentations a shock to the community's moral sense,
cried the religionists ; and means were soon found to cut
short the life of this play. Only fifteen performances
were^giyen. At the second tKe scandalous lines were
suppressed, and after the closing of his theatre for the
Easter holidays, Moliere found it expedient to reopen
with another play, although there had been no diminu-
tion in the receipts of Don Juan sufficient to warrant its
suppression. According to Voltaire, a five-act comedy
in prose written without regard to the unities was too
unheard of a novelty to please a Parisian audience ; but
M. Mesnard is far nearer the truth in attributing Don
Juans short life to " a silent persecution." " It is clear,"
he says, " that during the Easter vacation the wisdom
of taking his comedy from the boards was pointed out to
Moliere." l

In ¥he Hypocrite the iniquities of the lords spiritual
were exposed ; in Don Juan the depravity of the lords
temporal was laid bare. Moliere could do no better
" than attack the vices of his time with ridiculous like-
1 (Euvres de Moliere.

MOLIERE

nesses," for only when his lance was poised against some
evil did Tie rise to his full height. Had France profited
by these lessons from his fearless pen, she might have
been spared her Reign of Terror. Moliere, the poet
militant, is indeed a noble figure, — a Bayard of litera-
ture, sans peur et sans reproche.

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 231

XIII
THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE

IN more ways than ;one the theatrical year beginning at
Easter, 1664, was th'e most eventful in Moliere's career.
In May, at the Versailles fetes, he reached the climax of
mundane glory possible for an actor in an age so pre-
scribed ; before the year had ended, both The Hypocrite
and Don Juan had been written, while The Misanthrope,
the greatest unit in this trilogy of unrivalled brilliance,
was conceived, and work upon it begun.

Not only did this year mark the culmination of
Moliere's genius, but of his happiness as well, for the
walls of his fool's paradise crumbled then; ere it had
closed, he might well exclaim, like Alceste, his misan-
thrope : " At court or in town I behold only objects
that heat my bile." But before his domestic tragedy is
unfolded, a few theatrical happenings must be chronicled,
else they may be lost sight of entirely.

In November (1664) T^ajgf^ngp rpplarpfj Mq]j^ ag

orateur of the troupe, — a functionary with the attributes
of the modern " press agent " ; yet, there being no daily
papers, his effusions upon the merits of forthcoming
productionize delivered orally from the stage at the
close of elSB^rformance. The young actor thus pro-
moted was of all Moliere's comedians the most praise-
worthy. Playing lovers' parts to perfection, he added a
personal note of decency to a profession really too disso-

232 MOLIERE

lute, and, as a writer, not only chronicled the doings of
the company, but was his chief's first editor as well. To
quote M. Gustave Larroumet, " Moliere crowned the
dramatic profession with the aureole of genius ; La
Grange brought to it the soft tones of a fine talent
and a fine character." 1

In November of this same theatrical year^Gros Rene,
long Moliere's companion in his u barn storming " days,
and the husband of the imperious Italian beauty Mar-
quise Therese de Gorla du Pare, departcdjthis^ life ; and
his comrades were so affected that they closed their the-
atre at the time of his death, although it was Tuesday,
a regular theatrical day. In March, 1664, Brecpurt, a
quarrelsome actor who will be remembered as the es-
timable murderer of a Parsian cabman, left Moliere's
forces to join those of the Hotel de Bourgogne, and was
replaced by Hubert,2 a comedian of the Theatre du
Marais~7~Eut the theatrical event of most striking inter-
est is that chronicled by La Thorilliere,3 regarding vari-
ous eleemosynary payments made during June and July,
1664, to a wounded porter or door-keeper.

In those days of "radiant baldrics " and keen-pointed
rapiers the porter of a theatre held a perilous post in-
deed. It was his duty to collect the admission money,
and he was likely to be spitted by the first impecunious

1 La Com'edie de Moliere.

* See note, page 194.

8 Two registers kept by La Thorilliere, and so^tohat similar in
purpose to La Grange's famous work, are preservecM HI archives of
La Com'edie fran^aise. They cover the period from^April sixteenth,
1663, to January sixth, 1665, and chronicle the expense account of
the troupe. The first of these registers was republished in 1890 by
G. Monval in his Molieresque collection.

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 233

swashbuckler to whom he refused admittance; hence
the four gifts of from three to eleven livres each to a
wounded porter, recorded by La Thorilliere. More-
over, during July, 1664, a police guard was required at
Moliere's theatre for nearly every performance. This
may seem an anomaly in the law and order reign of
Louis XIV; yet howsoever pacified the noble-born fron-
deurs may have become, the populace was far from tran-
quil, and street duels were of almost daily occurrence.
The retainers of great nobles considered themselves
above the law, and the theatre was a favourite haunt for
plumed and begirdled rascallions of all degrees.

The King's musketeers, life-guards, gendarmes^ and
light horse were " dead heads," and the troopers of
these favoured corps filled the -parterre in such boisterous
numbers, according to Grimarest, that Moliere obtained
a revocation of this privilege from the sovereign ; where-
upon the irate soldiery forced the theatre doors and " by
dint of sword " sought to avenge the loss of their pre-
rogatives. The porter fell, pierced by " a hundred
thrusts," and his assailants were about to wreak ven-
geance upon the actors themselves when Louis Bejart,
made up as an octogenarian for the play in hand, begged
them at least to " spare an old man of seventy-five who
had but a few days to live." Bejart demonstrated his
right to the sobriquet of UEguise (the sharp), for his
presence of mind turned the ire of these spadassins to
laughter, whereupon Moliere, taking the stage, lectured
them upon their behaviour until they sheepishly with-
drew ; but so great had been the tumult that a veritable
panic ensued among the members of the company.
Hubert and his wife dug a hole in the wall of the Palais
Royal ; and the husband, with manlike trepidity, forced

234 MOLIERE

his way in first ; but the exit being only big enough for
his head and shoulders, he became wedged therein, and
raved like a madman until the riot subsided and he was
rescued from his precarious position.

After this experience Moliere's actors were willing
enough to renew the "dead head privileges" of the
soldiery ; but the manager opposed any concession, and
his adroitness in assuring the guards sent to protect the
theatre that he had sought only to exclude a few scoun-
drels who were masquerading as musketeers, seconded,
no doubt, by royal command, so mollified the wearers
of the King's livery that further outbreak on their part
was avoided.

On another occasion a theatre porter named Germain
was attacked by five retainers of a nobleman's house-
hold, and rescued only after one of the offenders had
been killed and another wounded by two pistol shots
fired by an unknown hand. Once when Moliere was
playing in La Comtesse cT Escarbagnas, he became a target
for stones and " the stub of an old pipe," while at the
end of the play a nobleman's page augmented the dis-
turbance by beating a young man in the audience on the
head with a bludgeon. A king's counsellor, seated on
the stage, sought to calm the rioters by calling upon
them to remember that they were in the presence of
one of their judges ; whereupon " a young man in a
black velvet doublet with a sword at his side and a
white plumed hat upon his head," raised his voice and
cried disdainfully, " We defy our judges ! We have no
judges ! " — a manifesto so popular that the counsellor
was glad to escape with his life. At a performance of
Psyche given a few weeks before Moliere's death, some
fifty or sixty rowdies stopped the play, and when La

The soldiers invading the theatre

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 235

Thorilliere, addressing the audience at the instigation of
another king's counsellor, offered to return the dis-
turbers their money or lower the curtain, they replied
that they did not care a hang for their money, but only
wished to be amused, upon which assurance the play
proceeded.1

Filling the triple role of author, manager, and come-
dian amid such turbulent surroundings, Moliere presents,
indeed, an heroic figure, especially when it is remembered
that besides fighting hypocrites, quelling riots in his
theatre, settling the squabbles of his players, and acting
four times a week, he wrote an average of two comedies
a year, in which he was called upon to provide satisfactory
roles for four actresses with almost equally tenable claims
to the centre of the stage, the most capricious of whom
was his own wife.

The evidence of The School for Wives, The Versailles
Impromptu, and The Forced Marriage all tends to prove
that Moliere's eyes were early opened to the shortcom-
ings of Armande Bejart ; yet until the time of the fetes
known as " The Pleasures of the Enchanted Isle," this
ill assorted couple dwelt together in apparent concord.
At Versailles, however, Armande Bejart became the
theatrical centre of a very theatric occasion. She rode
upon Apollo's chariot as the Age of Gold, played Diana
to Moliere's Pan, and as one of Alcina's nymphs floated
about the Basin of Apollo on a wooden sea monster;
while, to crown her triumphs, she appeared upon a ver-
dant stage as the Princess of Elis. Her power to charm
the beholder in this role can be no better told than in the
words of Euryale, the enraptured prince of the play :

1 Documents inedits sur J.-B. Poquelin Moliere by Emile Campardon.

236 MOLIERE

She is, in truth, adorable at all times; but at that
moment more so than ever, and new charms redoubled
the splendour of her beauty. Never was her face adorned
with more lovely colours ; never were her eyes armed
with swifter or more piercing arrows. The softness of
her voice persisted in showing itself in the perfectly
charming air which she deigned to sing ; and the marvel-
lous tones she uttered pierced the very depth of my soul
and held all my senses in a rapture from which they were
unable to escape. She next showed a disposition alto-
gether divine; her lovable feet on the enamel of the soft
turf traced delightful steps, which carried me quite beyond
myself and bound me by irresistible bonds to the grace-
ful and accurate movements with which her whole body
followed those harmonious motions.

Armande Bejart had in her soul the passion and the
instinct of the theatre. Sooner or later, she would have
given a husband of Moliere's temperament real or imagi-
native cause for jealousy. To the great majority of
Moliere's biographers she is a grossly unfaithful wife,
singularly ungrateful for the kindness and affection of
the man whose great name she bore ; yet when the evi-
dence against her is examined minutely, the only fact
clearly established is that she and Moliere separated after
a few years of married life. Whether this marital dis-
agreement was caused by actual misconduct on her part
during the Versailles fetes, or merely by the impru-
dent flirtations in which she apparently indulged, is
exceedingly difficult to determine. Indeed, the most
tangible evidence against her is that of Moliere's own
plays.

If it be admitted that on many occasions the poet
wrote subjectively, then his heroines become more or less
faithful portraits of his wife as she appeared to him at

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 237

various moments of his life ; his heroes, not himself cer-
tainly, but the embodiment of his overburdened heart.
A critic whose own work has been purely technical or
objective will be likely to scoff at the personal equation
in Moliere's comedies ; but an imaginative writer knows
how, consciously or unconsciously, both characters and
opinions are tempered by an author's own experience in
life. Moliere, a man of forty, married a giddy girl of
twenty ; and thereafter the theme of a middle aged man's
love for a young and frivolous woman recurs in his plays
with such singular frequency that to deny subjectiveness
to his work is to deny the man a heart capable of voicing
its own misery.

The reader has seen how Ariste's generous views of
women, as expressed in The School for Husbands shortly
before Moliere's own marriage, differed from those voiced
in The School for Wives, a few months thereafter, by the
pathetic, unrequited love of Arnolphe, a man who had
learned

— the artful tricks, the subtle plots
Which women use to leave us in the lurch,
And how they dupe us by their cleverness.

It has been urged, probably by bachelors, that, when
The School for Wives was written, Moliere had not been
married sufficiently long to have discovered his wife's
real character ; yet many a man besides him has been
disillusioned ere the honeymoon has waned.

In The Forced Marriage, presented but a few months
before Armande Bejart played so prominent a part at
Versailles, Dorimene, the flighty young heroine, tells
Sganarelle, her bourgeois fiance, that after marriage she
means to give herself over to pleasure, and make up for
the time she has lost. " As you are a well bred man,"

238 MOLIERE

she says, " and know the world, I think we shall get on
together famously, and that you will not be one of those
bothering husbands who expect their wives to live like
bugbears. I confess that would not suit me. Solitude
drives me mad. I like gambling, visiting, assemblies,
entertainments, promenades, in fact, all kinds of pleasure ;
and you should be overjoyed to have a wife with my
tastes."

Giving birth to her first child, Louis, for whom the
King stood sponsor, only ten days before this play was
produced, Armande Bejart was unable to speak these
lines ; yet who will deny the aptness of their reference to
herself? The reader will recall how faithfully Moliere
painted her portrait in The Burgher, a Gentleman;*
while in George Dandin the heroine complains of the
tyranny of husbands " who wish their wives to be dead
to all amusements and to live only for them." Further-
more, in The Misanthrope, — a comedy to be considered
at length in the ensuing chapter, — the similarity between
fact and fiction is even more striking.

That Armande Bejart, instead of being actually vi-
cious, was merely a vain and incorrigible flirt, is the
view Grimarest takes of her character in the following
paragraph :

No sooner was she Mile, de Moliere than she be-
lieved she ranked with a duchess ; and scarcely had she
appeared upon the stage ere the idle courtier made her
the topic of his tales. . . . Moliere imagined that the
entire court and all the town had designs upon his wife,
and she did not take the trouble to disabuse his mind of
this idea. On the contrary, her scrupulous care in dress,
designed, as he supposed, for every one but himself, and

1 See page 151.

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 239

a proceeding he did not care for, only increased his sus-
picion and jealousy. He tried to point out the way she
must behave if their domestic happiness was to be as-
sured, but his teaching seemed to her too severe for a
young person who, besides, had nothing with which to
reproach herself; so she failed to profit thereby.

Moliere suffered much from the heartlessness of his
wife, but that he believed her guilty of transgressing the
decalogue is still unproved. Had it not been for the
anonymous author of 'The Famous Comedienne, it is prob-
able, to quote Mr. H. Noel Williams, " that Armande's
name would have gone down to posterity without any
very serious stain upon it." l

The first lover imputed to her is the Abbe de
Richelieu, a grand-nephew of the noted cardinal, and a
libertine with a marked partiality for actresses. To
quote The Famous Comedienne : 2

He was very liberal, and, the young woman being
fond of expenditure, the matter was quickly arranged
between them. In order that her engagement to him
might be manifested in the finest style, it was agreed that
he should give her four pistoles a day, exclusive of clothes
and entertainments. The abbe did not fail to send each
morning, by a page, the pledge of their compact or to
visit her every afternoon.

1 Queens of the French Stage.

2 The authorship of this scurrilous pamphlet has been attributed, suc-
cessively, to Racine, La Fontaine, Chapelle, Blot, a balladist of the
Fronde, and Rasimont, an actor, without any apparent rhyme or
reason ; likewise to Mile. Guyot, a member of Armande Bejart's
company after Moliere's death, and to Mile. Boudin, a provincial actress.
M. Gustave Larroumet believes that because of the preponderating place
it allots to women and the manner in which it speaks of men, the author
was one of Armande's professional rivals. The present writer fully
concurs in this opinion.

24o MOLIERE

Armande Bejart bore Moliere a son on January nine-
teenth, 1664, and the Abbe de Richelieu left France in
March of that same year to war against the Turks in
Hungary, and died at Venice, on January ninth, 1665;
so it is apparent that any intrigue between this church-
man and Moliere's wife must have taken place before
the lady's honeymoon was fully eclipsed. To conceive
of the abbe's page knocking at the bridal chamber each
morning with his master's pistoles requires too fanciful a
flight of the imagination for the modern mind to com-
pass ; yet our anonymous vilifier thus proceeds to detail
another adventure quite as improbable :

The abbe's affair lasted several months without dis-
ruption ; but Moliere having written The Princess of E/isy
in which La Moliere played the princess, she created such
a sensation that her husband had cause to repent of having
exhibited her in the region of gilded youth. Scarcely
had she arrived at Chambord, where the King gave this
entertainment, than she became infatuated with the Comte
de Guiche, while the Comte de Lauzun fell madly in
love with her. The latter spared no effort to please her,
but La Moliere, having lost her head over her hero,
would listen to no proposition, and contented herself with
visiting Du Pare to weep over the indifference of the
Comte de Guiche. The Comte de Lauzun, however,
did not abandon hope of triumphing, experience having
taught him that he was irresistible. Furthermore, he
knew that the Comte de Guiche was one who set small
store by woman's love, for which reason he doubted not
his indifference would end in the repulse of La Moliere,
and that his own star would then produce in her heart
what it had produced in the hearts of all the women he
had essayed to please. He was not deceived; for La
Moliere, angered by the coldness of the Comte de Guiche,
threw herself into the arms of the Comte de Lauzun as

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 241

if desirous of seeking protection against further suffer-
ing at the hands of a man who failed to appreciate her.

At the time of the Versailles fetes the Comte de
Guiche was in exile at Warsaw; but he returned during
the summer and was at Fontainebleau when Moliere's
company played there in August. However, he was
falling passionately in love with the Duchesse d'Orleans
at the time, while the Comte de Lauzun, whose presence
at the Versailles fetes, although unrecorded, is possible,
presents a similar amorous alibi, for his affections were
then engaged by the Princess of Monaco. Still, it would
be easy to believe that the notoriously expansive hearts
of both these gentlemen had beaten for a pretty ac-
tress as well, were it not that the Abbe de Richelieu,
then engaged in cutting the Turk's head (in reality,
not a V allemande\ is made by the author of The Fa-
mous Comedienne to play the abhorrent role of a resentful
sneak who, intercepting a tender letter written by Ar-
mande to De Guiche, calls Moliere's attention to the
fact that "the great care he took to please the public
left him no time for examining the conduct of his own
wife."

When the abbe had furnished this meat for Moliere's
jealousy to feed upon, a bitter matrimonial quarrel fol-
lowed, according to this anonymous author. Shedding
repentant tears, Armande confessed her love for De
Guiche, but said nothing about Lauzun ; then, protest-
ing that her guilt was only in intention, she obtained
Moliere's forgiveness "merely to continue her intrigues
with more eclat than ever."

Tiring of unrequited sentiments, such as her love for
De Guiche, she resolved to make profit of her charms,

242 MOLIERE

the writer goes on to say ; but in due course of time
Moliere learned anew of her misconduct and forthwith
threatened to confine her in a convent. Armande wept
and swooned, but instead of entreating pardon, as before,
turned the tables upon her husband by charging him
with undue intimacy with his former flame, Mile, de
Brie. Conceiving henceforth " a terrible aversion " for
her husband, she treated him with the greatest con-
tempt, until matters reached such extremities that Mo-
liere, " beginning to realise her wicked propensities,"
consented to the separation she demanded; so, "without
a parliamentary decree, they agreed to live together nd
longer."

Finally the author of The Famous Comedienne stands
upon tenable ground ; for although the three lovers are
apparently chosen at hazard, the separation here re-
counted undoubtedly took place. As for the part played
by Mile, de Brie in bringing this to pass, this same
scandalmonger asserts that she lived in Moliere's house.
If this were the case, any one familiar with theatrical
life will readily perceive that she must have proved a
warring element ; yet the modern writers who assert the
truth of the contention that " Mile, de Brie lived in the
Moliere house and had not left it since the marriage,"
have drawn their information, to quote M. Mesnard,
" from no source we are aware of besides The Famous
Comedienne."1' f

It is difficult to follow with certainty the various
changes of residence made by Moliere ; but the most
likely theory is that at the time of his marriage he was
living in his father's house, where he remained until he
moved to the rue St. Thomas du Louvre to occupy

1 (Euvres de Moliere.

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 243

lodgings in a building owned by one Milet, marechal des
camps et armees du Roi. The first record of his residence
in the latter establishment is found in the burial per-
mit for his first child, dated November eleventh, 1664.
M. Milet likewise rented apartments to Madeleine, Gene-
vieve, and Louis Bejart; so, again to quote M. Mes-
nard, " it would not be surprising to find Mile, de Brie
in the house in the rue St. Thomas du Louvre, since it
was customary for the actors of the same troupe to lodge
near each other." It was certainly an unwise move on
Moliere's part to take his young wife to live with her
brother and sisters ; and if Mile, de Brie and other
theatrical ladies dwelt under the same roof, the domestic
tranquillity he sought was impossible of attainment.

Another disturbing element was introduced into his
household by Moliere himself in the person of Michel
Baron, a child comedian he rescued from a strolling com-
pany. Both the mother and the father of this boy had
acted at the Hotel de Bourgogne with considerable suc-
cess ; and, being left an orphan at an early age, he was
apprenticed by an aunt and uncle to a troupe of child
actors managed by a woman named Raisin. Having
squandered in the provinces the profits of her venture
upon a gentleman attached to the Prince of Monaco's
suite, this woman came to Paris in 1664 to recoup her
fortunes, where, appealing to Moliere's charitable heart,
she obtained the use of his theatre for three perform-
ances. Young Baron's acting on this occasion made such
an impression on the great man that he took the lad to
his house to sleep, and had him sumptuously dressed in
new clothes. Grimarest, whose materials for his biography
were obtained from Baron himself, may here be allowed
to speak ex cathedra :

244 MOLIERE

Moliere asked the lad what he most wished for at that
moment. " To be with you for the rest of my days,"
Baron replied, " in order to show my sincere gratitude for
all your kindness to me." " Very well," said Moliere,
" the thing is done ; for the King has given me permis-
sion to take you out of the troupe you are in."

Mme. Raisin naturally objected to being forcibly de-
prived of her star performer; but there was no gainsay-
ing the King's will, so young Baron was transferred to
Moliere's care, henceforth to be treated as a son. The
poet's interest in the lad was justified, for he became, in
later years, the greatest actor of his day, as well as a
successful dramatist ; but Moliere's fondness was not
shared by his wife, nor did Baron's own conduct fully
justify his benefactor's interest. It appears that Ar-
mande hated the lad for his impertinence and precocity,
and still more for the influence she believed he exercised
over her husband.

To display the talents of his protege at court, Moliere
began the writing of Melicerte, a play he was pleased to
term An Heroic Pastoral. This comedy was intended
for production at a fete known as " The Ballet of the
Muses," held at St. Germain in December, 1666.
Baron was cast for the title role ; but one day, at re-
hearsal, Armande Bejart's resentment and jealousy rose
to such a point that she dealt the lad a sound box on the
ear. So indignant was he that he took himself off forth-
with to join his former manageress, leaving Moliere with
an unfinished play and no one for the leading part.

As Baron was then a handsome lad in his teens,
" already in great request among the ladies of the theatre
and also among certain ladies of the fashionable world,"
Armande's resentment was possibly caused by his indif-

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 245

ference to her. Moliere should have been thankful to
be rid of the young scamp ; but such was not the case,
since Baron returned to the Palais Royal several years
later, at its manager's earnest solicitation.

Although the date of Moliere's rupture with his wife
is uncertain, manifestly it took place shortly after the
Baron episode, since early in the following year (1667)
the poet became so ill from overwork and domestic worry
that he lived upon a milk diet for two months, and re-
tired to an apartment in a large country house at Auteuil
which he had rented from one Jacques de Grou. There
he dwelt until he became reconciled to his wife, some
four years later.1

The milk diet suggests alimentary ills and a dis-
ordered nervous system. Indeed, there is considerable
reason for believing that although Moliere died of a lung
trouble, he was long a sufferer from neurasthenia, a
malady so often the result of excessive mental work.
His irritability, moroseness, excessive tenderness, violent
jealousy, and the strong introspective tendency displayed
in his plays, all suggest that complaint ; and indeed
there are few brain workers who have not, at some
time and in some degree, suffered the torments of that
intangible disease.

Some have maintained that Moliere's disposition was
the cause of his wife's misconduct, — a criticism not with-
out reason ; for once a husband has " got on a wife's
nerves," to use a colloquial expression, the latter, if she
be at all flighty by nature, will be likely to seek diver-
sion everywhere save at home. In this connection M.
Mesnard's remarks seem most pertinent :

1 Les Points obscurs de la vie de Moliere by Jules Loiseleur.

246 MOLIERE

It has been said that Moliere's restless character and
jealous transports irritated his wife's nature to such a
degree that she sought vengeance for this tiresome want
of confidence in flirtatious bravado. This apology for
Mme. Moliere is at best excessive, since to strike an
even balance for this couple appears to us an injustice.
However, we shall oppose no difficulty in the way of
recognising the discord of their characters, or certain of
Moliere's traits likely to appal a frivolous young wife.
Doubtless the great man appeared to her too much of
a philosopher and dreamer, often too melancholy, and,
when borne down by the weight of his incessant work,
more harassed than she would have wished for her pleas-
ure and comfort; while he felt the need of a tranquil
home and a tenderness equal to his own. The inborn
jealousy which in his stage life passed for mere oddity
made him appear to this Bejart an importunate, trouble-
some husband. She might well exclaim, like Celimene
in The Misanthrope: "There are a hundred moments
when I find him the greatest bore in the world." Still
was he not easily enraged, and had he not offensive man-
ners and impatient impulses P One might perhaps cite,
in proof of this, the anecdote told by Grimarest about
his anger against a valet who twice put on one of his
stockings wrong side out, but this proof is very meagre.
One moment of passion does not convey the right to
regard as unmerited Moliere's reputation for much gen-
tleness and unrestrained kindness toward those who
served him.1

In his contention that Moliere's faults were not in-
supportable, M. Mesnard submits the evidence of Mile.
Poisson, daughter of the poet's old comrade, Du Croisy,
to the effect that he was " kind, obliging, and generous."
Now, it is often the case that persons the most irritable
at home show, in the presence of strangers, the very

1 Notice biograpbique sur Afoliere.

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 247

qualities Mile. Poisson cites. If the so-called artistic
temperament be analysed, it will be found to be little
else than a nervous disease ; for the very transports an
artist experiences when in the throes of creation are off-
set by restless fits of depression at his inability to inter-
pret his conceptions satisfactorily, or intense outbursts
of passion toward unappreciating critics, all of which
bespeaks an unequable nature and disordered nerves.
Tranquillity of mind is a characteristic of mediocre
people, but not of great artists such as Moliere. Re-
member, he was twenty years his wife's senior, and, de-
spite his brilliance, generosity, and kindness, it is easy
to imagine he was not easy to relish as a daily conjugal
diet. Such a psychological view of this couple's incom-
patibility makes Moliere's wretchedness of heart no less
intense, nor his wife less culpable for her failure to love,
honour, and obey a man so manifestly her superior in
both ability and moral worth. It merely makes clear the
impossibility of such an ill mated pair ever living together
in peace and comfort.

Physiognomy, too, may be cited as evidence of this
couple's incongruity. For instance, Loret calls Ar-
mande Bejart " the actress with the pretty face "; while
Robinet, another rhymester of the period, says " noth-
ing could be so beautiful or dainty as she." Her lord
and master, however, judging by the following word
portrait painted by Du Croisy's daughter,1 could scarcely
be dubbed a handsome man :

Moliere was neither too fat nor too thin. He was

tall rather than short, his bearing was noble, his leg well

turned. He walked sedately, his manner was serious,

his nose important, his mouth large, his lips thick, his

1 See note, page 81.

248 MOLIERE

complexion dark, his eyebrows black and bushy, while
the various twitches he gave them made his expression
extremely comical. l

After the rupture with his wife, Moliere, to quote
Grimarest,2 " did his utmost to confine himself to his
works and to his friends without grieving over his wife's
conduct." In his retreat at Auteuil " he lived as a true
philosopher," where, " engaged in pleasing his Prince
with his works and in acquiring an honest reputation, he
bothered little about the caprices of his wife, whom he
allowed to live according to her fancy, although he re-
tained for her a veritable affection."

This tenderness is further attested by Moliere's first
biographer in an account of a conversation between the
poet and his friend Jacques Rohault, a noted Cartesian
philosopher. " Yes, my dear Rohault," Moliere is
quoted as saying, " I am the most wretched of men, yet
I deserve my fate. Not seeing I was too austere for a

1 During the summer and autumn of 1905 a prolonged discussion oc-
curred in the French press regarding the moustache made so familiar by
the existing portraits of Moliere. In one of these he is presented with
a smooth face ; yet it seems most likely that he wore a slight moustache,
which on the stage was extended by means of charcoal in accordance
with the fashion set by Scaramouche. This is the opinion expressed by
M. Georges Monval, the venerable archivist of the Comedie Francaise
and for ten years editor of the Molieriste ; yet a writer in the Westmin-
ster Gazette may be quoted, in this connection, with a certain amount
of pertinency. "The amusing part of this controversy," he says, "is
that none of those who engaged in it seem to have hit upon the idea that
Moliere, like minor mortals, might have worn a moustache at one period
of his life and lived without it at another."

2 For events occurring after the advent of Baron as a factor in Moliere's
life, Grimarest, who learned his facts from this actor's lips, seems, to the
present writer, a far more trustworthy authority than for happenings pre-
vious to the time when Baron joined the forces of the Palais Royal.

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 249

domestic life, I felt my wife should subject her behaviour
to her virtue and my wishes ; yet, had she done so, I
fully realise that she would have been far more miserable
than I. She is sprightly and witty, and keen for the
pleasure of making herself appreciated ; yet, in spite of
myself, this makes me gloomy." Again, in the same
imaginary conversation, Moliere is made to say that " a
hundred times more reasonable than he, his wife wants
to enjoy life ; so, confident in her innocence, she goes
her own way, disdaining to subject herself to the pre-
cautions I demand." Surely this does not savour of a
belief in her misbehaviour ! Moreover, Moliere, still
speaking with Grimarest as his mouthpiece, exclaims
that his wife, above suspicion on the part of any one
less disturbed than he, " unmercifully leaves him to suf-
fer " and " laughs at his weakness."

Whether innocent or not of actual misconduct, Ar-
mande Bejart's frivolity was ill contrived to bring peace
and happiness to the heart of such a man as Moliere.
To quote Shakespeare's immortal tragedy of jealousy,

" But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er

Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves ! "

In tfhe Famous Comedienne there is an oft quoted
scene, which, while raising that contemptible screed to
the dignity of literature, paints the " damned minutes "
Moliere underwent so vividly that one is loath to be-
lieve it the work of a traducer. Here, in another imagi-
nary conversation, Moliere again unburdens his heart.
The friend on this occasion is Chapelle, the epicurean
comrade of his youth ; and so touching are the poet's
words, so replete with true sentiment and feeling, that
some have believed them to be taken from an actual
letter written to his friend by the poet himself.

25o MOLlfiRE

The scene is Moliere's garden at Auteuil ; the topic,
his unhappiness ; for Chapelle, seeing his friend is more
disturbed than is his wont, rallies him upon his weak-
ness, and maintains that nothing is more ridiculous than
to love any one who will not respond to his affection.

cccFor my part/ says he, cif I were unfortunate
enough to find myself in like state, and be convinced
that the person I loved granted favours to others, I
should feel a contempt for her such as would certainly
cure me of my passion. Moreover, a reparation is open
to you which would be denied if she were only your
mistress. The vengeance which commonly takes the
place of love in an outraged heart can compensate you
for all the vexations your wife causes you, since you can
at once shut her up in a convent, — a method sure to
set your mind at rest/

" Moliere, who had listened quietly to his friend, here
interrupted him to inquire whether he had ever been in
love.

" ' Yes/ replied Chapelle, ( as much as a man of good
sense ought to be, but I should never make mountains
out of anything that my honour counselled me to do,
and I blush to find you so undecided.*

"CI see clearly/ rejoined Moliere, £ that you have
never really loved. You take love's semblance for love
itself. Although I might give you infinite examples to
demonstrate the power of that passion, I shall merely
give you a faithful account of my own troubles, so that
you may understand how little we are masters of our-
selves when once love's dominion is assured. As for
the consummate knowledge of the human heart you say
the portraits I am constantly presenting to the public
prove me to possess, I acknowledge that I have en-

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 251

deavoured to understand its weaknesses ; but if science
teaches me that danger should be avoided, experience
convinces me only too thoroughly that escape is impos-
sible. I judge this daily from myself. My disposition
is by nature extremely affectionate, and all my efforts
have never enabled me to overcome an inclination toward
love; hence I sought to make myself happy, — that is to
say, as happy as a man with a sensitive heart may be, —
and, convinced that few women are deserving of sincere
affection, that interest, ambition, and vanity are at the
root of all their intrigues, I endeavoured to insure my
happiness by the innocence of my choice. I took my
wife, so to speak, from the cradle, and educated her with
the care which has given rise to rumours which have
doubtless reached your ears. I persuaded myself that I
could inspire her with the habit of sentiments time alone
could destroy, so I neglected nothing to attain this end.
As she was still young when I married her, I perceived
none of her evil propensities, and deemed myself a little
less unfortunate than the majority of those who contract
similar engagements. Neither did my eagerness dimin-
ish after marriage ; yet I found so much indifference in
her that I began to perceive all my precautions had been
useless, and that the feelings she had for me were far in-
deed from those my happiness demanded. Reproaching
myself with a sensitiveness which seemed ridiculous in a
husband, I ascribed to her disposition that which was
really due to her want of affection for me ; yet I had but
too many opportunities of perceiving my error, for the
mad passion she contracted soon afterward for the Comte
de Guiche occasioned too much commotion to leave me
even this appearance of tranquillity. So soon as I knew
the truth, finding it impossible to change her, I spared

252 MOLIERE

no endeavour to conquer myself. Employing all the
strength of mind I could command, I summoned to my
aid everything that might console me. Deeming her a
person whose sole merit had lain in her innocence, and
whose infidelity robbed her of all charm, I resolved
henceforth to live with her as an honourable man whose
wife is a coquette, and who is well persuaded that,
whatever may be said, his reputation is not affected by
the misconduct of his spouse. But I had the mortifica-
tion to discover that a woman without great beauty, who
owed what little intelligence she possessed to the educa-
tion I had given her could in one instant destroy all
my philosophy. Her presence made me forget all my
resolutions; the first words she said in her defence left
me so convinced that my suspicions were ill founded that
I asked her pardon for having been so credulous.

"c However, my kindness wrought no change in her,
and in the end I determined to live with her as if she
were not my wife ; but if you knew what I suffer, you
would pity me. My passion has reached such a point
as to cause me to sympathise with her ; and when I realise
how impossible it is for me to conquer my feelings for
her, I then tell myself that she has, perhaps, a like
difficulty in overcoming her love of coquetry ; so I find
myself more disposed to pity than to blame.

"'No doubt you will tell me one must be a poet to
love thus ; yet, for my part, I hold that there is only one
kind of love, and that those who have not experienced
such tenderness have never truly loved. In my heart, all
things of this world are associated with her; and so en-
tirely are my thoughts given over to her that when she
is away nothing gives me pleasure. When I behold her,
transports of emotion which can be felt but not described,

THEATRICAL AND DOMESTIC LIFE 253

deprive me of all power of reason, and no longer having
eyes for her faults, I see only her lovable qualities. Is
not this the last extremity of folly, and do you not marvel
that all my reason serves only to make me aware of my
weakness without giving me the strength to master it?"

As a touching contribution to the literature of the
human heart, this scene is worthy of a laurel crown ; yet
its author was the most vile and cowardly of all Moliere's
traducers. The facts regarding the three lovers attrib-
uted to Armande Bejart are manifestly wrong; therefore
undue credence should not be given to the charges of
infidelity brought against either Moliere or his wife.
True, the morality of theatrical people in an age of li-
cense is not an easy cause to defend ; yet in judging
Moliere it should be borne in mind that he lay particu-
larly open to the attacks of jealous rivals.

In his plays he evinces far more delicacy in situation
and choice of language than Shakespeare in his ; while
for the most part their tone is so moral, their point of
view so commendable, that to accept the unrefuted charges
of a cowardly slanderer regarding the author's character
is to impute to him both hypocrisy and baseness, — a
thing scarcely believable in the author of The Hypocrite
and I'be Misanthrope. Indeed, when judged by his com-
edies, Moliere stands forth a valiant defender of virtue in
a dissolute reign, a sane philosopher in an age of cant.

Anchorites do not dwell in theatres, it is true, yet
there is not a particle of documentary evidence extant to
prove that his relations with Mile, de Brie were more
than those of an old and sympathetic companion, or that
Armande Bejart was other than a vain, heartless, flighty
coquette such as her husband painted in Celimene, the
heroine of The Misanthrope, the play now to be considered.

MOLIERE

XIV
THE MISANTHROPE

IN the midst of his domestic troubles Moliere wrote
Love as a Doctor (U Amour medecin), — a piece of buoy-
ant mirth, contrasting strangely with the heaviness of his
heart. In this comedy Sganarelle, no longer Don Juan's
cringing servant, reappears in his more familiar guise of
a well fed and well-to-do bourgeois, vain, narrow minded,
superstitious, yet honest withal ; in other words, an
epitome of the law and order backbone of the French
body politic.

This three-act farce in prose is a pleasing trifle, " far
better comedy/' asToltaire truly says, " \h2Q..£he- Forced
Marriage" though, like it, written to divert the young
monarch. To quote Moliere's preface : " It is but a
simple pencil sketch, a little impromptu, which the King
wished to amuse him, — the most precipitate, however,
of all his Majesty has commanded of me ; for when
I say it was suggested, written, learned, and produced
within five days, I shall tell only the truth." With
ballet interludes danced to Lully's measures, Love as a
Doctor was first performed at Versailles, probably on
September fourteenth, I665.1 Possibly the King took
part himself as one of the Joys, Laughters, or Pleasures.

1 La Grange and Vinot in the edition of 1682 give September fifteenth
as the date of production. MM. Monval and Mesnard both incline to
September fourteenth as the probable date. The latter ( (Euvres de Mo-
liere) discusses this point at length.

THE MISANTHROPE 255

The plot is simple yet diverting. Sganarelle's daughter
falling ill, five physicians called in consultation fail to
diagnose her mysterious malady as love ; whereupon
Clitandre, her lover, disguised in medical robes, pre-
scribes matrimony, and induces Sganarelle to sign the
contract by telling him that his daughter is temporarily
demented, and that the document is but a prescription to
humour her.

A play written and produced in five days should be
judged as dramaturgy rather than as literature ; for, as
Moliere himself says, " comedies are written only to be
played." From this point of view Love as a Doctor is
certainly praiseworthy, for it moves consistently and
rapidly to an amusing climax, and is replete in clever
characterisation ; still, its chief interest lies not in its
smart intrigue, nor in the likelihood that certain scenes
were inspired by Tirso de Molina and Cyrano de Berge-
rac. Above all else, it is distinguished as being Moliere's

Hprlarafinn nf wpr fg^"°* ™rf)jrffll "mpjlj™0™ , * COn-

test wTiTch will form the topic of the ensuing chapter.
Although its mirth was sprightly and gay, Sganarelle's
opening speech touches the note of melancholy which
found symphonic expression in The Misanthrope :

Ah, what a strange thing life is ! and well may I say
with a great philosopher of antiquity that he who has
land has war ; for misfortunes never come singly ! I had
but one wife and she is dead.

When next Moliere's pen touched paper, he painted
the portrait of a wife who was dead to him, and sang the
misery of his own soul in a way so masterful that The
Misantkrofe stands unrivalled as the greatest of French
comedies ; for even The Hypocrite^ superior from a purely

256 MOLIERE

theatric point of view, must give place to its marvellous
character analysis, its profound philosophy of life. To
tell the anguish of a wounded soul betrayed by heart-
lessness and falsehood into that most fatal of passions,
the hatred of mankind, language has no stronger term
than the one Moliere chose to typify his greatest comedy.
The very word " misanthrope " conjures to the mind a
dismal picture of outraged sentiment and embittered
confidence.

In Moliere's hero a loss of faith in mankind as a
whole has followed a loss of faith in the woman he
adores ; for Alceste's misanthropy is, after all, only a
splenetic fancy that all men are deceitful because his
mistress is so, — a lover's misogyny, in other words, if
this be not a contradiction of terms.

Celimene, the unworthy object of Alceste's affections,
is, perhaps, the most perfect picture of feminine coquetry
in the realm of literature. Vain, flighty, intoxicated by
love of admiration and tainted by the scented air of
drawing-rooms, she is best described by the modern word
" flirt," — a term aptly derived from a Bavarian expression
meaning " to flutter." Her character can be no better
painted than in the words of Gustave Larroumet:1

Celimene is twenty years of age, and her experience
is that of a woman of forty. Coquettish and feline with
Alceste, frivolous and backbiting with the little mar-
quesses, cruelly ironical with Arsinoe, in each act, in each
scene, she shows herself under a different aspect. A
contemporary, or one nearly so, of Mesdames de
Chatillon, de Luynes, de Monaco, de Soubise, and the
nieces of Mazarin, she ought to awaken, as a vague
memory, these great names ; she is the exquisite and rare

1 La Comedie de Moliere.

THE MISANTHROPE 257

product of an aristocratic civilisation in the full splen-
dour of its development, and often she speaks a lan-
guage of almost plebeian candour and freshness.

Besides the hero and this frivolous young heroine, the
chief characters in the play are Alceste's friend, Philinte,
a social opportunist ; Eliante, a sensible emblem of
womanly worth ; Arsinoe, a mischief-making prude,
who in English would be denominated Mrs. Grundy ;
Oronte, a dilettante poet, and Acaste and Clitandre, two
court dandies of emasculated wit, about whom the reader
might well exclaim, as did the character in ^he Versailles
Impromptu, " What, marquesses again ! "

The play is in the conventional five acts, the scene being
Celimene's drawing-room. The first is devoted entirely
to the elucidation of Alceste's character, and the develop-
ment of the single dramatic fact that he is in love with
Celimene, the absolute opposite of his lofty ideals. An
Alexandre Dumas fils or a Sardou would " blue pencil "
this to about six speeches ; yet Henri Becque, from
whom the best French dramatists of to-day, such as Paul
Hervieu and Maurice Donnay, receive their inspiration,
derived his technic from profound studies of Moliere's
character comedy.

Complications, catastrophe, and denouement should
be subordinate to atmosphere and character drawing ; the
analysis of events must give place to the analysis of
persons, these modern Frenchmen maintain — likewise
Ibsen, Strindberg, Hauptmann, Sudermann, and Eche-
garay. These are not new principles, however ; Moliere
taught them three centuries ago. Indeed, the closer a
writer of plays studies the great Frenchman, the less
likely is he to fall into the purely theatric rut of situa-

258 MOLIERE

tion, as distinguished from the loftier dramatic ideals of
atmosphere and characterisation.

cc Leave me, I tell you, and get out of my sight ! "
Moliere's hater of mankind exclaims in the discursive
opening scene with his rational friend Philinte. His
anger is righteous indignation toward a man who, he
says, "ought to die from very shame for almost stifling
with caresses, protestations, and vows of friendship one
whose name he can scarcely remember." Philinte's
defence is that "when a man embraces you warmly, you
must repay him in his own coin," — a worldly doctrine
that calls forth the following outburst from the enraged
Alceste :

Nay, I cannot suffer such coward ways

As nearly all your worldly men affect ;

Nor hate I aught so much as the contortions

Which great asseverators use — those far

Too cordial givers of unmeaning love,

Too courteous utterers of empty words,

Who in smooth manners vie, treating true worth

And any fopling with an equal grace.

To what good end if, swearing admiration,

Tenderness and trust, friendship, zeal, and faith,

A man shall laud you to the skies, then rush

Into the arms of any common wretch

He meets by chance, to do as much ? No, no !

A heart endowed with self-respect can ne'er

Endure such prostituted reverence ;

The vainest, even, finds but little cheer

In mere confusion with the universe.

Esteem on some true preference is based ;

Thus in esteeming all, no man 's esteemed.

Since to the vices of the day you 're pledged,

You are, in Heaven's name, not of my clan.

An indiscriminating heart's regard

I scorn — myself must needs be prized ; in brief,

The friend of all mankind 's no man for me.

THE MISANTHROPE 259

Thus Alceste is painted in a few bitter strokes, — a
blunt despiser of untruth seeking to rectify the vices of
the world by the force of his own word and example : the
type of man who in England writes to the Times y and in
America presides at reform meetings ; a man at once too
virtuous to accept the laisser faire tenets of his practical
friend Philinte, and too self-sufficient to forgive mankind
for its failure to accept his honest views.

"The world will not alter for all your meddling,"
Philinte tells this reformer ; " all these invectives against
the manners of the age make you a laughing stock ! "
" So much the better," Alceste replies ; " all men are so
odious to me that I should be sorry to appear rational in
their eyes." " Shall all poor mortals, without exception,
be included in this aversion ? " Philinte asks. Alceste's
answer sets forth his misanthropy :

No, my distaste is catholic ; I hate

All men : malevolence and wickedness

In some ; the rest for paltering with these,

Lacking the lusty hate vice should inspire

In every upright heart. . . . Upon my faith,

It wounds me mortally to see how vice

Is spared ; unto a silent desert, far

From man's approach, I *m tempted oft to flee.

In an untranslated portion of this speech the personal
equation of Alceste's hatred for society is made appar-
ent. " You see how unjustly and excessively complacent
people are to that barefaced scoundrel with whom I am
at law," he exclaims. In other words, having been out-
witted by "a low bred fellow who deserves to be pilloried,"
Alceste has a personal grievance against the world. After
all, is not all hate of a human creature for his kind just
such embittered egotism as this ?

260 MOLIERE

Alceste's even tempered friend, tactful man of the
world that he is, answers his splenetic outcry in the
following sane manner:

About the manners of the time, egad,

Let 's bother less, and more compassion show

To human nature, judging it with less

Asperity, viewing with charity

Its faults ; for in society we need

A pliant virtue, being often blamed

For knowledge far too great. Sane minds forsake

Extremes for wisdom and sobriety.

The rigid virtues of the ancient times

Too far offend the manners of our day,

Demand an excellence too great for man.

Seeking to rectify the faults of this

Poor world is second to no other folly ;

Hence graciously to custom we should bow.

Instead of profiting by this worldly wisdom, Alceste,
harking back to his lawsuit, asserts that he will see
whether " men have sufficient impudence, and are wicked,
villainous, and perverse enough, to do him injustice in
the face of the whole world " ; whereupon Philinte, at-
tacking him suddenly in his most vulnerable part, thus
forces from his lips the true secret of his misanthropy :

PHILINTE

Think you this virtue you demand of all,
This worth wherein you hide yourself, prevails
In her you love ? At war with all mankind,
I am astonished that you find in spite
Of all that makes man odious, the charms
To soothe your eyes ; and I confess the choice
Your heart has made astounds me more. Eliante
The true admires, Arsinoe the prude
With tenderness regards you ; yet your heart
Is cold to both ; the meanwhile Celimene,

THE MISANTHROPE 261

Whose coquetry and humour mischievous
Accord so well with our more modern ways,
In durance holds you with bewitching chains.
Hating these things so mortally, how brook
You them in one so fair; in one so sweet,
Are they no longer faults ? Do you condone,
Or does it mean that you are blind to them ?

ALCESTE

Nay, my regard for this young widow leaves
My eyes still open to her faults. For all
The love she has aroused, I am the first
To see and to condemn ; yet spite of that,
My weakness I confess ; for do whate'er
I may, she has the art of pleasing me.
j In vain I see her faults, vainly I blame ;
For notwithstanding all, she makes me love.
Great is her charm, — my love will purge her soul
Of all the passing vices of the time.

This frank confession goes far toward clearing Alceste
from the charge of being a prig. His misanthropy is
but the gall of a noble nature betrayed by a woman's
heartlessness into magnifying its own woes until they
become those of humanity. He is a great hearted, gen-
erous soul who loves the domestic virtues, — and falls in
love with a coquette. Had she been a housewife, philan-
thropy, not misanthropy, would have been his passion.
When he rails against the insincerity of the world, it is
a woman's insincerity he means ; thus, when Philinte
tells him that Celimene's " steadfast and sincere " cousin
Eliante would make him a far better wife than his chosen
mistress, he exclaims in all asperity :

'T is true my reason tells me so each day ;
Yet reason *s not the power to govern love.

This deeply human passion for an incorrigible flirt
saves Alceste from being a wretched Timon. His brav-

262 MOLIERE

ery, too, commands respect. To tell the world it is base
demands a certain hardihood ; but to tell a poet his
verses are bad requires genuine courage.

This latter comes to pass when the conversation be-
tween the misanthrope and his tranquil friend is inter-
rupted by Oronte, a fashionable poetaster with a sonnet
he wishes to read to Alceste for the purpose of hearing if
it is good enough for publication. " I have the fault of
being a little too sincere," he is warned. " That is pre-
cisely what I wish ! " cries the versifier ; yet, being a poet,
praise, not sincerity, is, of course, his expectation, — a de-
sire made apparent in his assertion that he spent only a
quarter of an hour in composing his verses. His sonnet
might have been written by any of the Hotel de Ram-
bouillet poets, and so cleverly did its sighs to Phyllis imi-
tate the precious poetry of the day that Moliere's first
auditors thought it decidedly good, and were astonished
when Alceste, urged by Oronte to tell the truth, replied
in all sincerity :

" Candidly, you had better put it in your closet. You
have been following bad models, and your phrasing is
not at all natural. . . . This figurative style that present
writers are so vain of, is beside all good taste and truth.
'T is a mere trick of words, a sheer affectation ; for it is
not thus that nature speaks. The wretched taste of the
age is what I dislike in this. Our forefathers, unpolished
as they were, had far better judgment. Indeed, I value
all we admire nowadays much less than an old song I
shall repeat to you :

' If the King had given me

Paris his great town,
Then demand that I agree
On my love to frown —

THE MISANTHROPE 263

Thus King Henry I should pray :

" Keep Paris as of yore ;
I love my darling more," I 'd say,

" I love my darling more."

" This versification is not rich," Alceste goes on to
say, " and the style is antiquated ; but do you not see it
is far better than all that affectation at which good sense
revolts, and that its passion speaks simply ? "

Oronte, indignant at receiving the plain truth he had
invited, sneers at the judgment of his blunt critic, and
demands that he write verses on the same subject as a
sample of his style.

Alas, I might write poetry as bad,

But I should never show it to the world,

Alceste replies, — a piece of candour which drives Oronte
in peevish fury from the house.

In the second act artful Celimene pettishly receives
Alceste's remonstrances against her coquetry, and when,
reproaching her for permitting so many suitors to be-
siege her, he threatens to break from her thrall entirely,
she craftily defends herself in the following ingenuous
way:

For having suitors am I culpable ?

Can I keep men from finding me engaging ?

And if to see me they take gentle means,

A bludgeon must I use to drive them hence ? *

Alceste's retort shows clearly that he reads the heart he
cannot sway :

You need, Madame, a less susceptive heart
More than a club. Your charms, I must concede,
Go with you everywhere ; yet those your eyes
Attract are by your welcome held, and those
Who yield will find its proffered sweet completes
The slavery of soul your charm began.

264 MOLlfiRE

Continuing in this reproachful vein, he asks how it is
that Clitandre has the faculty of so pleasing her. " Is it
the long nail on his little finger, his mass of ribbons, or
the width of his canons ? " Then in plaintive suppliancy

he asks :

And I, accused of too great jealousy,
What more have I than all the rest, I pray ?

" The happiness of knowing you are loved," Celi-
mene replies ; then, seeking to pacify him by the assur-
ance that in the future no one shall deceive him but
himself, she calls forth this genuine outburst of passion :

Zounds, must I love

You so ? Ah, if I might retake my heart
From your fair hand, for that rare boon I 'd bless
The skies. To drive this terrible devotion
From out my soul, I do my best, I grant ;
Yet all my greatest efforts are in vain ;
Indeed, *t is for my sins I love you thus.

Alceste emerges from this scene a lover such as all the
world may love. His passion commands respect, while
his misanthropy stands revealed as the vehemence of an
embittered heart sorely tricked by an inexorable coquette.
Meantime Celimene tortures her victim with the charge
of loving only for the sake of quarrelling, while her
drawing-room, gradually filling with fashionable friends,
becomes a Vanity Fair.

There is no mistaking the atmosphere. It is the per-
fumed air of the boudoir in the days when gallantry was
a fine art. With the Marquesses Clitandre and Acaste
as ready pupils, the fribbling hostess becomes the mis-
tress of as merciless a school for scandal as ever graced a
drawing-roorn. Eliante, too genuine to matriculate, holds
aloof; likewise Alceste, till anger overflows his heart ; yet

THE MISANTHROPE 265

how true are Celimene's vignettes of fashionable life !
Take this picture of a snob, for instance, drawn in answer
to Acaste's query as to the character of their mutual
friend, Gerald:

Oh, the dull mumblenews !
He never fails the noble's part to play,
And in high circles he is ever found.
He only quotes a princess, prince, or duke ;
His head by rank is ever turned ; his talk
Is horses, carriages, or dogs ; while men
Of highest quality he tbees and tbous,
And mister is a word beyond his ken.

Thackeray has painted no truer picture. How many of
us, too, have dined with the rich upstart depicted in the

following lines :

CLITANDRE

And young Cleon, whose hospitality

The worthiest have accepted — what of him ?

CELIMENE

His merit is his cook ; his board alone
The object of the visits that we pay.

Instigated by the two silly marquesses, portrait upon
portrait is thus painted by Celimene's scathing wit, until
honest Alceste lashes her band of scandalmongers with
this whip of words :

Go on, my courtly friends, go on, till each
Has had his turn, till none is spared ; yet let
But one of them appear, and you will rush
To greet him hurriedly, your hand extend,
A flattering kiss bestow, and protest make
Of meek servility in vows profound.

" Why do you attack us ? " Clitandre asks. " If what
is said wounds you, address your reproaches to the lady."

266 MOLIERE

o, pardie, it concerns you," Alceste replies, " for your
approving smiles draw forth her slanderous shafts."
Thus, even in his wrath, Alceste is the lover, though he
accuses Celimene of " indulging in pastimes he cannot
countenance." Both Clitandre and Acaste rushing to
her defence with flattering assurances of her perfection,
the misanthrope asserts that " the more we love, the less
we should flatter," — a doctrine refuted by Eliante in
the following interpolated remnant from the translation
of Lucretius's poem, De Rerum Natura, Moliere made
when Chapelle, Bernier, Cyrano de Bergerac, and he were
students of Gassendi :

Since lovers ever vaunt their choice, to brook

Such laws love 's ill contrived. In loved ones Love

Sees naught to blame ; for imperfections pass

As charms with pretty names from lovers' lips.

The pale one to the whiteness of the jasmine

Is compared ; she whose sombreness inspires

A goodly fear becomes a sweet brunette.

The lean is lithe and has a comely shape ;

The fat 's majestic with a carriage grand ;

The sloven, graced with little charm, is styled

A careless beauty ; e'en the giantess

Appears a goddess to Love's eyes. The dwarf,

Epitome of miracles divine

Is deemed ; the haughty one a diadem

Deserves ; the scapegrace ever teems with wit,

And Mistress Nincompoop is wholly good.

The chatterbox is dispositioned well ;

If taciturn, she 's modest and reserved :

For thus within the one adored, each fault,

Each frailty, the ardent suitor loves.

A hint from the marquesses that Celimene excuse her-
self to their rival follows these lines; but Alceste asserts
that " he will never depart until they have left." This

THE MISANTHROPE 267

lover's threat is unfulfilled, however, for Oronte the son-
neteer, offended by Alceste's frank criticism, sends an
officer to summon him before the mar'echaussee> — a tri-
bunal having jurisdiction in disputes between gentlemen.
Protesting that only the King has power to make him
approve bad verses, the misanthrope goes, as the cur-
tain falls, assuring Celimene meanwhile that he will soon
return to finish their argument.

The third act is of so little dramatic consequence that
it might well be coupled with its predecessor. It pre-
sents a new character, however, in the person of Arsinoe
the prude, so deliciously described by Celimene as —

A humbug, double-faced !
Worldly of heart, successless she has tried
To hook her fish ; so enviously she looks
Upon the suitors in another's train ;
And so, forsaken in her wretched state,
Must rail against the blindness of the age.
With veil of counterfeited prudery,
She seeks to hide the solitude of home ;
To save the credit of her feeble charms,
She brands as criminal the powers they lack.
Forsooth a lover mightily would please
My lady ; even now, methinks, she looks
Upon Alceste with tenderness heartfelt.

Visiting Celimene with intent to thwart Alceste's
passion, Arsinoe asserts a friend's right to warn her
hostess that she should appear, as well as be, above
reproach, — an effrontery which calls forth the following
retort :

Madame, 't is easy all to blame or praise,
And each is right according to his age
Or taste. For coquetry there is a time,
And also one for prudery : one may

268 MOLIERE

For polity take to it when the charms

Of youth are faded, — cruel ravages

Of time it often hides. I do not say

I shall not follow your example bright

In after years, — age leads to all, Madame ;

Yet twenty *s not the time to play the prude.

The victor in this feminine passage at arms leaves her
crestfallen foe with Alceste, who " comes very oppor-
tunely/' as she says, " and will better supply my place
in entertaining you." Playing upon the misanthrope's
vanity, Arsinoe assures him that " people of exceptional
merit attract her," and " if some place at court might
tempt him," suggests that " a great many engines may
be set in motion by her to serve him " ; but Alceste
showing plainly that "in ushering him into the world
Heaven did not give him a mind suited to a court at-
mosphere," Arsinoe is forced to try venom instead of
flattery. Arousing the misanthrope's jealousy, she tells
him that if he will escort her home, she will give him
indubitable proof of Celimene's disloyalty, adding that
" if his eyes would only shine for other eyes, she might
offer him consolation," — a piece of feline hardihood
which brings the third act to a close.

"Alas," Alceste exclaims in the ensuing act, "all is
ruined ! I am betrayed, I am stricken to death ! Celi-
mene deceives me, and is faithless," — an unreasoning
outburst prompted by a letter supposedly written by
Celimene to Oronte, which Arsinoe has given him. So
infuriated is Alceste that he lays his heart at the feet of
Eliante, to punish Celimene, as he says, " by a transfer
of his sincere attachment and profound love to another."
Having just received a proposal from Philinte, prudent
Eliante retires without declining either suitor's hand,

THE MISANTHROPE 269

thereby showing herself not altogether free from the arts
of Celimene.

Alceste's passion is, indeed, " a savage jealousy that
sometimes savours nobly." When confronted with the
letter, Celimene, steeped in the ways of coquetry, ac-
knowledges it to be hers, but hints that it may have been
written to a woman ; then refusing to confess the truth
or falsity of this, she scorns her lover's charges, telling
him " it matters little to her what he thinks." The way
in which this incomparable coquette holds her wretched
lover spellbound is best told in the words of the play :

ALCESTE, aside

O Heavenly Power, can greater cruelty

Be forged ? Was ever heart so used ? I come

In anger just to chide, and I, instead,

Am quarrelled with. My anguish, my mistrust,

Are driven to the uttermost. She boasts

Of everything, she lets me credit all ;

And yet to break these irksome bonds, to arm

Against the thankless object of this love,

My heart is still too base.

(To Celimene.) Ah, traitorous one !

You know the way to turn this feebleness
Against myself; the way to controvert
To your sole use the riots of a fatal
Passion, the offspring of your treacherous eyes.
Defend yourself against this whelming crime,
And cease to feign disloyalty to me.
Assert this letter* s innocence, I pray,
If so it can be proved, — my love extends
A willing hand. Ah, strive constant to seem.
And to believe you so, I '11 force myself.

CE'LIMENE

Away ! your jealous transports drive you mad.
My love you do not merit in the least.

270 MOLIERE

I 'd like to know if any one can make

Me sink for you to base deceit, and should

My heart unto another lean, I 'd like

To know the reason why I should not tell

You candidly. Does not, forsooth, the kind

Assurance of my sentiments avert

Your doubts from me ? In face of guaranty

Like this, possess they any gravity ?

To lend them ear is an affront to me ;

And since my sex's honour, enemy

Of woman's love, to such avowal is

Opposed so strictly, should a faithful swain

Who for his sake has seen these stumbling-blocks

O'ercome, mistrust with such impunity

The oracle, and is he not to blame

If he should fail to satisfy himself

Upon a matter never told until

Great battles with one's self are hazarded ?

Away, away ! such doubts deserve my wrath.

You merit not my thought. I am a fool ;

And vexed I am at my simplicity

In feeling still so graciously toward you.

I ought to place my heart elsewhere and give

You just and ample cause to make complaint.

ALCESTK

Ah, traitress, mine is strange infatuation !
Those tender words are doubtless meant to trick -
What matters it ? To fate I must submit.
My soul is wrapt in you, and I shall watch
Your heart's behaviour to the bitter end,
Learning if to betray it 's black enough.

CELIMENE

No, no, you do not love me as one must
Be loved.

ALCESTE

Alas ! to my surpassing love
Is nothing comparable ; for in the ardour
Shown to all, even to the end it goes

THE MISANTHROPE 271

Of forming 'gainst you wild desires. Ah, yes,

I wish that amiable you ne'er were found ;

And furthermore that you to some mean state

Would fall ; that Heaven at your birth did naught

Bestow ; that you had neither fortune, rank,

Nor lineage, in order that my heart,

By noble sacrifice, your unjust lot

Might remedy ; and that I might, to-day,

The joy and glory have of seeing you

Accept your all from Love's adoring hand.

CELIMENE

A manner strange, indeed, to wish me well.

That you the chance will have, may Heaven forfend !

Before Alceste can bring this wayward flirt to terms,
his servant appears in haste to tell him he is threatened
with arrest in connection with his lawsuit. As the curtain
falls upon his unquenched passion, he says to Celimene :

It seems that Fate, whate'er I do, has sworn
My holding converse with you to prevent.
To triumph over her, permit my love
Again to see you ere the day has closed.

Having paid twenty thousand francs to settle his law-
suit and been ordered by the marechauss'ee to embrace his
enemy the sonneteer, Alceste, resolved to retire for ever
from this " cut-throat hole " of a world, comes to learn
whether Celimene's heart has any love for him, and over-
hears Oronte paying court to her; whereupon he con-
fronts the guilty pair and demands that she decide, once
for all, whose affection she prefers. Thus brought to
bay, the flirt is temporising, by inviting her cousin
Eliante to decide the merits of the case, when Acaste and
Clitandre, each bearing a letter addressed by Celimene
to the other, burst upon the scene. These they proceed
to read aloud. In the one Acaste is dismissed as " a

272 MOLIERE

little marquess whose sole merit is his cloak and sword " ;
in the other Clitandre, as " the last man in the world
whom she could love." Oronte, too, is dubbed one
" whose prose bores as much as his poetry " ; while
Alceste, " the man with the green shoulder-knot, amuses
sometimes with his bluntness and his surly grumbling,
although there are hundreds of occasions when he is the
greatest bore in the world." Her perfidious coquetry
thus unmasked, Celimene stands defenceless, as one by
by one her suitors leave her house in scorn, Alceste,
alone of all the pack, remaining.

Her pride is humbled at last. Yielding her coquette's
sceptre, she pleads for mercy, yet cannot forswear the
flesh-pots :

Ciuidkm

You may say all.

To censure as you will, or to complain, —
You have, indeed, the right ; for I confess
The injury, and my bewildered heart
With vain excuse ne'er seeks to pay its debt.
The anger of the others I despise ;
The guilt of my offence toward you, I grant.
Beyond all doubt, your indignation 's just ;
I know how culpable I must appear ;
How all bespeaks my treason. In a word,
You have a true and righteous cause to hate.
And I must give you leave.

ALCESTE

How can I, traitress ?
And how can I all tenderness subdue ?
Even should I wish most ardently to hate,
Will my own heart stand ready to obey ?
(To Eliante and Pbilinte.) You see the path unworthy passion

treads —
I make you each a witness to my folly ;

THE MISANTHROPE 273

Yet, to confess the truth, this is not all,

You '11 see me push it to the bitterest end,

And prove it wrong to deem me wise ; for something

Of man all hearts contain.

(To Ctlimene.) Unfaithful one,

I shall forget your crime ; and my poor heart

Shall find a way to pardon your misdeeds.

For with the name of feebleness to which

The vices of the time have led your youth,

I '11 cover all, provided your own heart

Will lend a willing hand to the intent

I Jve formed of fleeing far from all mankind ;

And that unto the desert where I've vowed

To live, you '11 quickly follow. Only thus

The injury these notes have wrought, can you

In every mind repair ; for after scandal

Which noble hearts abhor, 'tis only thus

I may permit myself to love you still.

CELIMENE

What ! I renounce the world before I 'm old,
And in your desert vast entomb myself?

ALCESTE

Ah ! if your passion answers to my love,
What imports anything in this poor world ?
Are not your wishes gratified by me ?

CELIMENE

A heart of twenty is by solitude

Dismayed ; and mine has not sufficient strength

Or grandeur to conform to such a plan.

If the offer of my heart will satisfy

Your love, I might decide to forge such bonds ;

For marriage . . .

ALCESTE

Nay, my heart but hates you now,
And this refusal has done more than all.
Since all in me you cannot find, in ties
18

274 MOLIfiRE

Thus dear, as I find all in you, go hence !
Your offer I decline ; by this deep wrong,
I 'm freed from your ignoble chains for ever.

Consistent even in defeat, Celimene retires, humbled
but undismayed, to lay her coquette's snare, as one firmly
believes, for some new dupe ; while Alceste, witness of
the equable union of Eliante and Philinte, exclaims to
these lovers, whose wooing has been as calm as their
characters :

To taste true happiness, this tenderness
For one another may you guard for e'er!
By malice overborne, upon all sides
Betrayed, I leave this pit where vice exults,
To find upon the earth some lonely place,
Where one is free to be an honest man.

True to his art, Moliere thus leaves his hero the vic-
tim of his own spleen. As he goes out to begin the
fulfilment of his vow, Philinte follows, calling to Eliante
to aid him "in thwarting the scheme his friend's heart
has proposed." Indeed, Alceste is far too noble and
lovable to live eternally entombed in his desert, exclaim-
ing, with Shakespeare's Timon :

" I am Misanthropes, and hate mankind."

He might better say, like Orsino, " If ever thou shalt
love, in the sweet pangs of it remember me ; for such as
I am, all true lovers are." When happy and contented,
one may smile at Alceste's impotent invectives against
the vices of society and even scoff at the sincerity of his
jealous transports ; yet if the world be awry, his character
appears both sympathetic and noble.

Although not presented until June fourth, 1666, The
Misanthrope was placed upon the stocks as early as

THE MISANTHROPE 275

1664; and according to Grimarest it had been read at
court before it was played at the Palais Royal. Al-
though Michelet1 insists that neither the King nor his
nobility was pleased with it, because "Alceste scolded
the court more than he did Celimene," seventeenth cen-
tury evidence tends to prove that it was most appreciated
by the classes it satirised,2 — a likely supposition, since
at the present day plays of Anglo-Saxon fashionable life
are best received in London or New York, where the
auditors are largely drawn from the class capable of
recognising the truth of the picture presented on the
stage.

Tbe Hypocrite, dealing with a prevalent vice, and well
advertised by five years of religious persecution, played
to what a modern manager would call " capacity busi-
ness," whereas the receipts of The Misanthrope, so es-
sentially a comedy of manners, were considerably less
and its run of shorter duration ; yet to Boileau, Moliere
was, above all else, "the author of The Misanthrope,"
while Racine, when told that it had failed, replied :
" I don't believe it, because it is impossible for Moliere
to write a bad play."

Men and women of fashion, convinced that here was
a true picture of society, acclaimed each character a por-
trait. Thus Alceste was likened to Julie d'Angennes*
atrabilious husband, the Due de Montausier ; Clitandre
and Acaste were found to be the Comte de Guiche and
the Due de Saint- Aignan ; Philinte, Moliere's epicurean
friend Chapelle ; and Celimene, the Duchesse de Longue-

1 Histoire de France.

2 De Subligny, La Muse Dauphine, June seventeenth, 1 666 ; Don-
neau de Vize, Lettre ecrite sur la comtdte du Misanthrope, published as
an introduction to the first edition of the play.

276 MOLIERE

ville, although, as M. Mesnard points out, this prin-
cess of the blood royal must needs be dragged from a
convent to become the type of worldliness. Moliere's
misanthrope, too, has been called a symbol of Jansen-
ism,1 his play a noble plea for social tolerance, or
the hero merely an expression of the author's art of
making honest people laugh, according to each critic's
temperament.

In the perennial riddle he presents, Alceste resembles
Hamlet, and like the melancholy Dane, offers the actor
an enigmatic role, demanding the highest histrionism.
Indeed, that most eminent of modern comedians, M.
Constant Coquelin, in a charming monograph upon the
subject, quotes some wiseacre as saying that " one of the
first symptoms of an actor's insanity is to wish to play 'The
Misanthrope" 2 Confessing that his physical aspect alone
has prevented his essaying the role, M. Coquelin takes a
comedian's view of Alceste, and, denying him the at-
tributes of a Hamlet, Faust, or Manfred, pronounces
him a comedy character conceived by a comedian who,
"pen in hand, obeyed his genius and not his passions."

This leads to the inevitable discussion of the play's
subjectiveness ; for Alceste, a man of middle age in love
with an arrant flirt, has often been pronounced an expres-
sion of Moliere's self. The evidence, of course, is purely
circumstantial; yet, like that of The School for Husbands
and The School for IVives^ it is too much of a coincidence
to be disregarded ; for at the very time when Moliere
was driven by the frivolity of his own wife to part from
her, he conceived Alceste, a hater of mankind inspired
by a woman's heartlessness.

1 V Enigme d* Alceste by Gerard du Boulan, 1879.

2 Holier e et le Misanthrope, 1881.

THE MISANTHROPE 277

For a comedian to see only a comedy part in Alceste
is in the nature of a professional judgment ; yet to deny
this misanthrope a place in the sphere of Hamlet is to
deny his author the attribute of profound philosophy
and a niche beside Shakespeare ; for though Moliere
may be inferior to our own "myriad minded" genius
in his imagery and in the sublimity of his conceptions,
as a creator he is, as M. Coquelin himself so happily
expresses it, " his equal in fecundity, his superior in
truth." Moreover, when he most nearly depicts his
own suffering, his plays are most truly " the applause,
the delight, and the wonder of the stage."

Very likely, as M. Coquelin suggests, "if Moliere
is in The Misanthrope, it is far more in the wise and
indulgent calm of Philinte than in the stubborn, con-
tentious puritanism of Alceste," for Philinte represents
the clear-sighted sanity of the writer's mind. Alceste's
love and jealousy, however, are the impassioned suffer-
ings of a heart overborne by a coquette's cruelty ; so
it is as idle to deny his subjectiveness as to gainsay
the objectiveness of Celimene, — a role light and vain
as Armande Bejart, and written to be played by her.
For Moliere to choose a lovers' quarrel so nearly re-
sembling his own, a hero so like himself in many
essentials, and a heroine who might readily pass as a
portrait of his wife, and then fail to express his own
wounded feelings in the verses spoken by Alceste,
would be impossible, if he be granted a heart. Indeed,
to be immortal, a writer must be sincere, — a quality
demanding a breadth of feeling alone aroused by a per-
sonal experience of life.

Moliere' s genius was eclectic ; so neither Alceste nor
Philinte is an actual portrait of himself. To mould the

278 MOLlfeRE

character of his misanthrope, he formed an imaginative
alloy, using Monsieur de Montausier for the spleen, if
you like, and Boileau for the literary acumen, — as this
critic has confessed ; but from his own misery sprang the
love and jealousy.

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 279

MOLlfcRE AND THE PHYSICIANS

IN the untiring warfare Moliere waged against the evils
of society, his campaign against quackery, if not the most
brilliant, was certainly the most prolonged. Beginning
while he was still a strolling player, it lasted until the
hour of his death ; for, with a fatality the medical men
considered righteous judgment, he was seized with his
last illness while playing the title role of 'The Imaginary
Invalid, perhaps the most bitter of his satires against the
physicians of his time.

This enmity toward a calling at once so worthy and
humane appears, at first sight, unreasonable. Indeed,
some knowledge of the French medical faculty of the
seventeenth century is necessary in order that one may
sympathise with the biting satire of Love as a Doctor, \
The Doctor in Spite of Himself, Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, \
and 'The Imaginary Invalid, the four principal medical '
satires from Moliere's pen. 'The Flying Physician and
The Physician in Love, two canevas of his youth, the
latter of which has been lost, had medicine as the topic
of their ^mmour as well ; therefore Mbliere's warfare
against *he medical %culjy- may be said to have begun
during his " barn storming " days. Moreover, he was
not the only dramatist of that period to make the quack
a comedy character ; for, at the Hotel de Bourgogne,
Guillot-Gorju, once a medical student himself, acquired

280 MOLIERE

his reputation as a buffoon in the role of comic doctor.
Certainly the charlatan of the Pont Neuf selling balms
and opiates while acrobats tumbled and clowns grimaced,
was so little removed in point of science from the
licensed physician riding in cap and gown through the
streets of Paris to bleed, or to administer an antimony
pill, that no writer of plays possessing a sense of humour
could overlook the mirth-provoking possibilities of such
medicine.1

On the left bank of the Seine, in the heart of the an-
cient quarter where students in flowing gowns discoursed
in Latin and pedantic doctors in crimson robes upheld
the dignity of learning, a sombre building bearing on its
fa9ade the inscription Urbi et orbi salus stood amid a laby-
rinth of tortuous streets. For two centuries or more this
dingy edifice had been the home of the Faculty of Medi-
cine, youngest of the four faculties of the University of
Paris, yet the most lucrative and by far the most widely
known of these, since to the world at large it was the
Faculty.

Born in the cloisters of mediaeval monasteries, it had
grown, but had not changed. It was powerful and re-
spected, yet faithful to its spirit and traditions, — a proud,
independent body, teaching and exercising the liberal pro-
fession of which it held a monopoly ; a body so exclusive
that its members scarcely exceeded a hundred in number,
or, to be more explicit, about one physician to each five
thousand of the inhabitants of Paris. When they met

1 In depicting the medical faculty of Moliere's day the author's facts
have been gleaned from Maurice Raynaud's delightful monograph, Les
Medecins au temps de Moliere, in which both the foibles and virtues of
the seventeenth century physicians are treated with an impartiality most
praiseworthy in a writer himself a member of the profession.

MOLI£RE AND THE PHYSICIANS 281

in solemn conclave, even these were divided into two
classes, the Senior and Junior Bench, — a distinction
made not according to age or ability, but to length of
service.

In dignity, however, if not in common sense, the Fac-
ulty was admirable. Imagine a gloomy amphitheatre
lighted by a stained glass window ; imagine a hundred
doctors in violet cassocks and ermine trimmed robes of
scarlet silk seated amid a throng of sable gowned stu-
dents, while their dean, surrounded by his mace bearers,
vaunts in Ciceronian periods the ancient glories of a lib-
eral profession ; and one will have a fairly accurate pict-
ure of the Faculty in conclave assembled, — a pageant
"inferior," as M. Raynaud remarks, "to such an assem-
bly of kings as the Roman senate, yet certainly not
lacking in solemnity or grandeur."

The supremacy of professional dignity over professional
skill is well indicated by the oath a professor of medicine
took when nominated :

I swear and pronounce faithfully to teach in a long
gown with wide sleeves, a doctoral cap upon my head, a
knot of scarlet ribbon on my shoulder.

Still, the Faculty was not without its virtues. At a
moment when none of the great hygienic institutions
which adorn modern society existed, it did its best to
supply this want by fulfilling the functions of both the
academy of medicine and the board of health. However,
it wished progress to come from within itself, not else-
where ; so surgery fell in sacrifice to its illiberality.
Thus, too, the circulation of the blood was proscribed
because it was English ; antimony, because it came from
Montpellier ; and quinquina, because it was American, —

282 MOLlfeRE

"three senseless and barren acts," as M. Raynaud says,
"which laid it open to public ridicule."

Confined in its investigations to the bodies of crimi-
nals, the Faculty was compelled to wait for its anatomical
subjects until an execution took place, whereupon the
criminal lieutenant notified the dean, who, in turn, sent
the grand beadle to summon the doctors and students.
If at peace with the surgeons, they too were invited ;
yet, owing to the dignity of science and the indignity of
manual exercise, the professor was esteemed a man so
erudite that he must remain upon the heights of learning,
and not descend to manipulate the scalpel himself; hence
it often happened that the modest preparator knew more
than the master.

That the knowledge of the Faculty was not far from
quackery is attested by two prolonged and acrimonious
disputes in which its members indulged. Does the blood
circulate? Is antimony a panacea for all pain? These
were problems about which medical men wrangled dur-
ing the greater part of the seventeenth century ; while
in disputing the validity of Harvey's great discovery,
such absurd arguments as the following were used:
" If the blood circulates, it is useless to bleed, because the
loss sustained by an organ will be immediately repaired,
hence bleeding is useless ; therefore the blood does not
circulate."

The cause of antimony — le vin 'em'etiquey as Moliere
calls it — was espoused by the Faculty of Montpellier,
therefore the Faculty of Paris regarded it with suspicion.
" In brief," to use M. Raynaud's words, " this contro-
versy was at bottom the old but ever new question as to
what part the accessary sciences should play in medicine."
Lest the technical pedantry of this dispute grow tedious,

w
n

MOLlfiRE AND THE PHYSICIANS 283

it may be summed up in the means of transportation
adopted by members of the two schools of medicine when
visiting their patients. The doctors of the old school
rode upon mules, while those who upheld the new
doctrines used horses, — an appropriateness of selection
which is apparent.

To Moliere's sane mind these empirical physicians,
absorbed in interminable scholastic wranglings and op-
posed to everything in the nature of progress, were
frauds only a little less deep in dye than the hypocrit-
ical directors of conscience. His gauntlet was thrown
to them by Don Juan, when Sganarelle, disguised as a
medical man, prescribes for half a dozen peasants, and
asks his master whether it would not be strange "if
those sick people got well and then came to thank me ? "
The scoffer replies :

Why not ? why should not you have the same privi-
leges as other doctors ? They have no more to do in
curing patients than you, for their art is pure humbug.
What they do is to take credit when a case turns out
well ; so you, as well as they, may reap the advantage
that comes from an invalid's good fortune, and see attrib-
uted to your remedies all that may happen from good
luck or the forces of nature.

When in this same scene Don Juan's doubts regard-
ing the efficacy of drugs are rebuked by Sganarelle as
follows, the craze for antimony receives a telling thrust
from Moliere's satirical rapier :

SGANARELLE

Your mind is wretchedly distrustful. You know that antimony
is now making a great stir in the world. Its wonders have con-
verted the most incredulous persons, and less than three weeks
ago I saw it produce a marvellous effect.

284 MOLIERE

DON JUAN
What was that ?

SGANARELLE

A man had been at the point of death for six days ; nobody
knew what to prescribe, no remedy did any good. At last anti-
mony was tried.

DON JUAN
He got well, then ?

SGANARELLE
No, he died.

DON JUAN

The effect was marvellous, indeed.
SGANARELLE

Of course it was. He had been dying for six days, and the
antimony killed him at once. Could anything have done it
better ?

But Moliere attacked the dishonesty and pretence of
the doctors even more than their ignorance. Indeed his
shafts were really aimed at the Tartuffes of medicine ;
for in those days charlatanism was rife, and pedantry a
^hield for ignorance. In academic robes and pointed
caps the doctors rode about Paris on their mules, im-
pressing the populace with their importance, while in
sick-room consultations they imposed upon their victims
by concealing their ignorance behind grandiloquent Latin
phrases, — a view of the profession not upheld by Moli-
ere alone, as this epigram of his day witnesses :

Assume a most pedantic frown,

Some Greek or Latin spout;
Have on a wig and grotesque gown

Of satin furred about ;
For such things almost make, we own,

A doctor out and out.

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 285

In Love as a Doctor (V Amour medecin), the play which
followed Don Juan, Moliere entered the fray in earnest.
No longer ridiculing medicine in the abstract, he made
the physicians themselves the object of his satire. It
will be remembered that in this play Sganarelle's daughter
falls ill of the malady called love, whereupon her father
summons four doctors in consultation, all of whom fail to
diagnose her disease.1 The names of these worthies are
Tomes, Desfonandres, Macroton, and Bahis. In this
connection Brossette, speaking through Cizeron Rival,
editor of his posthumous papers,2 tells us that " Moliere
travestied the principal court physicians, MM. des
Fougerais, Esprit, Guenaut, and d'Aquin, with masks
expressly made for the purpose, while Boileau composed
suitable Greek names for them. Thus, "to M. des
Fougerais he gave the name of Desfonandres, which sig-
nifies killer of men; to M. Esprit, who sputters, that of
Bahis, which means yelping, barking; while Macroton
was the name he gave to M. Guenaut because he speaks
slowly ; and finally that of Tomes, denoting bleeder, went
to M. d'Aquin, who delights in bleeding."

Gui Patin,3 too, polemical medical man of the day, and
possessed of a considerable sense of humour, wrote a
friend, shortly after Love as a Doctor was produced, to the
effect that a comedy against the court physicians was
acted at Versailles in which the first five doctors were
singled out, while three days later he added that
" U Amour malade (sic) is now being played at the Hotel

1 See Page 255.

2 Recreations litter air est 1765.

' The originals of the passages from Gui Patin, quoted by M. Ray-
naud and M. Mesnard, occur in Lettres choisies de feu Mr. Guy Patin,
Cologne, 1691.

286 MOLIERE

de Bourgogne, where all Paris rushes to see the court
physicians on the stage, especially Esprit and Guenaut
with masks expressly made for the purpose."

Needless to say, Moliere's comedy was not played at
the Hotel de Bourgogne; nevertheless Gui Patin's evi-
dence, coinciding so exactly with Cizeron Rival's assur-
ance that " the principal court physicians were travestied
with masks," has led to considerable discussion whether
or not Moliere's doctors actually appeared a rAristophane,
— a supposition dismissed by M. Mesnard1 with the
suggestion that Patin wrote from hearsay, while Cizeron
Rival merely repeated the statements.

To appreciate the satire of Love as a Doctor, no ar-
chaeological research is necessary, however, for when
Sganarelle's servant, Lisette, makes haste to tell her
master that his daughter is dangerously ill, that worthy
loosens his purse strings so far as to indulge in the
expense of not only one but four doctors, — an extrava-
gance which calls forth the following irony on the part
of the maid :

Now, pay attention ! You will be highly instructed —
they will inform you in Latin that your daughter is ill.

Instead of consulting upon the nature of the sick girl's
malady, Sganarelle's plethora of medical men argue upon
the relative excellence of mules and horses as a profes-
sional means of conveyance, until a new discussion is thus
incited by one of their number :

TOMES

By the bye, which side do you take in the quarrel between the
two physicians, Theophrastus and Artemius ? It is a matter
which divides the profession.

1 (Euvres de Moliere.

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 287

DESFONANDRES
I am for Artemius.

ToMfes

So am I; not that his advice did not kill the patient, as we
know, while that of Theophrastus was assuredly better ; but be-
cause the latter was wrong in the circumstances in holding an
opinion opposed to his senior. What say you ?

DESFONANDRES

Certainly. Professional etiquette must always be preserved,
no matter what happens.

TOMES

For my part, I am devilish strict about it, except among my
friends. When three of us were called in consultation the other
day with an outside doctor? I stopped the whole proceeding and
refused to permit any one to express an opinion until matters
were conducted according to rule. The people of the house did
all they could, — the case was pressing, — but I would not give
way j so the patient died bravely, while the dispute continued.

DESFONANDRES

You did quite right to teach those people how to behave, and
show them their inexperience.

TOMES

A dead man is only a dead man, and is of no consequence ;
but a neglected formality does great harm to the entire profession.

In the scene wherein the four doctors tell Sganarelle
the result of their consultation, Moliere's satire is even
more poignant :

1 The "outside doctor" with whom this worthy upholder of the old
school of medicine was loath to consult was doubtless a member of the
Faculty of Montpellier.

288 MOLlfiRE

Sir, we have duly argued upon your daughter's complaint, and
my opinion is that it proceeds from the overheating of the blood ;
consequently I would have her bled as soon as possible.

DESFONANDRES

And I say that her illness arises from a putrefaction of humours
caused by a too great repletion ; consequently, I would give her
an emetic.

TOMES
I maintain that an emetic will kill her.

DESFONANDRES
And I, that bleeding will be the death of her.

TOMES
It is like you to set up for a clever man !

DESFONANDRES

Yes, it is like me; and at least I can cope with you in all
branches of knowkdge.

TOMES
Do you recall the man you killed a few days ago ?

DESFONANDRES

Do you recollect the woman you sent to the other world three
days ago ?

TOMES (to Sganarelle)
I have given you my opinion.

DESFONANDRES (to Sganarelle)
I have told you what I think.

TOMES
If your daughter is not bled directly, she is a dead woman.

[Exit.

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 289

DESFONANDRES

If you have her bled, she will not be alive a quarter of an hour
a fter wa rd . [ Exit .

The two physicians remaining arrive at the conclusion
that " it is better to die according to rule than to recover
in violation of it," whereupon Sganarelle exclaims de-
jectedly, " Here am I, even more in the dark than
before. Deuce take it, I '11 buy some Orvietan, and
make her swallow that."

The counterpart of this scene is found in Gui Patin's
account of a consultation held at the time of Mazarin's
death, whereat four famous court physicians failed to
agree upon the disease of which the great man was dying.
" Brayer," to quote Patin, " said the spleen was infected,
Guenaut that it was the liver, while Valot insisted it was
water on the lungs, and Des Fougerais that it was an
abscess in the mesentery/' The apostle of the liver
apparently triumphed, for shortly after Mazarin's death
a carter, recognising Guenaut in the midst of a street
blockade, called out, " Let the doctor pass ! Thanks
to him we are rid of the Cardinal."

No sooner had Love as a Doctor been produced than
its author, borne down by overwork and domestic un-
happiness, was seized with an illness so severe that he was
obliged to close his theatre for a time and subsist upon
milk for two months, — an event affording him ample
opportunity to test the inefficacy of medicine. His dis-
ease, according to the doctors of to-day, was either tuber-
culosis or an aneurism, manifesting itself by a cough so

1 Orvietan was a quack remedy named after a famous charlatan of
the Pont Neuf.

290 MOLIERE

characteristic that Boulanger de Chalussay in his libellous
play l makes a character exclaim, " Yes, it is he. I just
recognised his cough." Failing to find relief, Moliere
manifested his resentment toward the doctors in a way, to
quote M. Bazin, " comparable to the revolt of an incor-
rigible sinner against Heaven."2 Had he been willing
to retire from the stage, his life might have been pro-
longed ; but instead of seeking rest, he fought an incur-
able disease with a steadfastness truly heroic. He could
not refrain, however, from lashing the quacks who failed
to relieve his suffering. Thus a fifth physician, by
name Filerin, is introduced in Love as a Doctor, appar-
ently for no other purpose than to voice the author's
own scepticism, in a speech made to Tomes and
Desfonandres :

For my part, I fail to understand the bad policy of
some of our people ; and it must be admitted that all
these bickerings have lately brought us into an ill repute
so pronounced that if we are not careful we shall bring
ruin upon ourselves. I do not speak for my personal
interest, for, thank Heaven, I have settled my own
affairs. Whether it blows or rains or hails, those who
are dead are dead, and I have enough to live upon with-
out thinking of those who are alive; but all these squab-
bles do the medical men no good. Since Providence
has been so kind to us for ages past as to make the
world infatuated with us, we should not disabuse man-
kind with our senseless disputes, but should take ad-
vantage of its gullibility as gently as we can. . . . The
greatest weakness in men is their love of life, and we,
availing ourselves of this by our ostentatious nonsense,
know how to make the most of the veneration the fear

1 Elomire bypocondre.

2 Notes bistoriques sur la vie de Moliere.

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 291

of death inspires for our profession. Let us therefore
maintain for ourselves that degree of esteem which man's
weakness has given us, and be united regarding our
patients, so that we may attribute to ourselves the for-
tunate results of an illness, and blame nature for all the
blunders of our art.

In The Doctor in Spite of Himself (Le Medecin malgre
lui\ Moliere satirised medicine with less acerbity.
Having run the gamut of middle class stupidity and
egotism, vain, cowardly, self-interested Sganarelle makes
his final appearance in the title role, descending in this
instance several steps below the social status of even
Don Juan's cringing servant. A sly, drunken rogue of
the people, this new Sganarelle, by trade a woodcutter,
bears slight resemblance save in Rabelaisian mirth to his
namesakes, though he may assert a certain kinship with
the imaginary cuckold. Having learned the rudiments
of Latin and a smattering of Aristotle from a famous
doctor whom he once served, he has become a lazy,
tippling lout who begins his comedy career by practising
upon Martine, his shrewish better half, the doctrine that
a wife, like a dog and a walnut tree, needs to be beaten
to better be ; yet when a well-meaning neighbour chival-
rously intervenes in behalf of the lady, both wife and
husband unite in trouncing him for meddling in their
domestic affairs.1

Although Martine thus resents a stranger's interfer-
ence, she vows vengeance, nevertheless, upon her lord
and master. When the servants of a wealthy bourgeois,
whose daughter's sudden loss of speech has baffled his

1 A few months ago the Parisian press chronicled a similar occur-
rence, wherein a passer-by, attempting to rescue a wife from the blows
of her lord, was set upon by both and soundly beaten for his impudence.

292 MOLlfiRE

family physicians, arrive in search of a man of science
capable of curing their young mistress, she points out
her husband as the one they seek, assuring them he is a
" strange fellow who keeps his knowledge to himself,"
and warning them, meantime, that " he will never own
he is a physician unless they each take a stick and com-
pel him by dint of blows to admit it." This drastic
argument is forthwith applied, with the result that
Sganarelle acknowledges a medical prowess unsuspected
theretofore. His skill in the use of dog Latin, however,
is insufficient to loosen a tongue tied voluntarily to pre-
vent a distasteful marriage ; so the invalid he is brought
to treat remains dumb until Leandre, her lover, bribes
this doctor in spite of himself to introduce him into her
father's house disguised as an apothecary. Leandre's
presence inspires a cure so marvellous that the father
prays Sganarelle to make his daughter dumb once more.
" That is impossible," the rogue replies ; " all I can do
is to make you deaf."

Sganarelle's fame as a doctor being now firmly estab-
lished, he vows medicine is " the best of all trades,"
since, " whether we manage well or ill, we are paid just
the same" ; yet his good fortune is short-lived, for while
he is reaping the fruits of his skill a servant informs the
master of the house that his daughter has eloped with
the pseudo-apothecary. The duped parent sends for a
magistrate to deal with Sganarelle, " a villain he will
have punished by the law," whereupon the servant,
whose plump wife Sganarelle has been making love
to in a most suggestive way, exclaims with undis-
guised glee, " I am afraid, Master Doctor, you will be
hanged ! "

The noose is cheated, however, for the elopers return

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 293

to beg forgiveness, — a boon readily granted when
Sganarelle's patron learns that his daughter's admirer
has just inherited a fortune from an uncle. Meanwhile
the worthy doctor in spite of himself, induced to
pardon his wife for the trick she has played him,
warns her to prepare herself " henceforth to treat a
man of his consequence with great respect, for the
anger of a physician is more to be dreaded than the
world imagines."

As a satire upon the medical faculty, this comedy is
less bitter than its predecessor. Indeed, the irony is
conveyed more by implication than by word of mouth,
as when the father of Sganarelle's patient says to that
rogue : " I have no doubt your reasoning is most excel-
lent, but there is only one thing that puzzles me : the
side (in the human body) of the liver and of the heart.
It seems to me that you place them wrong, that the
heart is on the left side and the liver on the right."
" Formerly it was so," Sganarelle replies, "but we have
changed all that " (nous avons chang'e tout cela)y — a phrase
which has become a French proverb.1

The source of this comedy has been traced to a. fabliau
or metrical folk tale of the middle ages, in which a peas-
ant's wife avenges conjugal cruelty by assuring two ser-
vants of the king in search of a doctor to heal their royal
master's daughter, that her husband is a physician " who
will do nothing for any one unless he is well beaten."

1 The inspiration of this scene, according to M. Mesnard, was the
dissection of a criminal's body chronicled by The Gazette, December
seventeenth, 1650, wherein the presiding doctor demonstrated that " the
liver was on the left side and the spleen on the right, while the heart
inclined to the right side, the majority of the organs being placed other-
wise than is commonly the case."

294 MOLIERE

A play by Lope de Vega, too, bears a resemblance in
certain scenes to Moliere's comedy, while the title of
one of our poet's early canevas, The Fagot Gatherer (Le
Fagotier\ indicates that the material had already ap-
peared, probably in one-act form ; but whatever its
source may be, The Doctor in Spite of Himself is a play
fulfilling Moliere's own canon of dramatic art that " the
rule of all rules is to please," — a fact well evidenced by
the popularity it has retained for more than two centuries.
According to figures computed to the year 1870, it had
been performed at the Comedie Francaise more times
than any of Moliere's plays save The Hypocrite? --a
verdict later statistics would doubtless ratify, since, rapid
in action, replete with comic situations and droll char-
acters, it possesses all the requisites of " side-splitting "
farce, while its characterisation entitles it to be dignified
by the name of comedy. Indeed, in criticising Moliere's
work, one is likely to be led by his marvellous ability as
a painter of human nature into overlooking the line of
demarcation between the higher and lower forms of stage
humour. *

The Doctor in Spite of Himself was placed upon the
stage of the Palais Royal August sixth, 1666, during
the run of The Misanthrope ; and, being presented in
conjunction with that masterpiece, it aided its receipts
materially, — a fact which caused Voltaire to remark that
" The Misanthrope is the work of a philosopher who
wrote for enlightened people, yet found it necessary to
disguise himself as a farceur in order to please the
multitude." 2

When Moliere's health had improved temporarily,

1 (Euvres de Moliere by Eugene Despois and Paul Mesnard.

2 Vie de Moliere, avec des jugements sur ses outrages.

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 295

and his long war against the pharisees had ended in
triumph, he so far relented toward the medical men
as to say in his preface to The Hypocrite that " medicine
is a profitable art which every one reveres as one of the
most excellent things we possess," — a leniency again
made apparent in a petition he presented the King on
behalf of " an honest doctor whose patient he had the
honour of being." In this he tells Louis that if he
will grant his medical friend a sinecure, he (Moliere)
has been promised " thirty years of life." " Dare I
demand this boon," the poet asks, " the day The Hypo-
crite is resuscitated by your kindness? The first of
these favours reconciles me with the devotees ; the
second would accomplish the same result with the doc-
tors." On another occasion, too, he betrayed kindliness,
at least, toward medicine in conversation with the King.
" What does your doctor do for you ? " Louis asked.
" Sire," Moliere answered, " we argue together, and
he prescribes remedies I never take ; therefore I get
well."

Moliere's health, however, did not long permit his
heart to retain such conciliatory sentiments toward medi-
cine ; so when Monsieur de Pourceaugnac was written to
grace a royal fete held at Chambord during the au-
tumn of 1669, his resentment toward the Faculty again
manifested itself. In this three-act comedy ballet in
prose the action is developed solely by the devices Eraste
employs to prevent Julie, whom he loves, from marry-
ing Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, a country lawyer to
whom Oronte, her father, has promised her hand.
To further his purpose, Eraste employs Sbrigani and
Nerine, a couple of rogues well meriting the title of

intriguers " given them in the list of characters.

cc i.

296 MOLlfiRE

When the play opens, the arrival of Monsieur de Pour-
ceaugnac in Paris is momentarily expected. His fate
is thus foreshadowed by the speech of Nerine to
Julie:

Can your father be serious in thinking to force you to
marry this Limoges barrister, this Monsieur de Pourceau-
gnac, whom he has never seen in his life, who is coming
to carry you off under our very noses? Should three or
four thousand crowns more suffice to make him reject a
lover who is to your mind ? and is a young lady like
you to be thrown away on a Limousin ? If he wants to
marry, why does he not choose a Limousine, and leave
Christians alone ? . . . We will play him so many tricks,
and put such rogues upon him, that we will soon send
him back to Limoges.

The aspersions here cast upon Limoges have been
attributed to a cold reception given Moliere when he
was a strolling player, as well as to the fact that his
brother-in-law, Genevieve Bejart's husband, hailed from
that city. In any event, there is little malice in the
attack, for Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, the Limousin, is
the one sympathetic character in the comedy. A credu-
lous countryman with gawky manners wishing to pass
for a gentleman, he has at least the merit of being
honest. The tricks whereby his life in Paris is made
unbearable follow each other with whirlwind rapidity,
until, accused by Nerine and an accomplice — the one
simulating a Picarde, the other a Gasconne — of being
the long lost husband of each, he disguises himself
in female attire to escape being hanged for bigamy.
Being arrested by a policeman whose venal proclivities
have a decidedly modern aspect, he buys his freedom,
and is glad to escape from so malevolent a city as

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 297

Paris, even though he returns alone to Limoges, and
leaves his bride that was to be to wed a triumphant
rival.

The most amusing pranks played upon this trustful
provincial occur, however, in the first act, when Eraste
delivers him into the hands of a pair of doctors with the
assurance that he is a maniacal invalid. The charac-
ter of one of these medical men is thus drawn by his
apothecary :

He is a man who knows his profession as thoroughly
as I know my catechism, and who, were his patient to
die for it, would not depart one iota from the rules
prescribed by the ancients. Yes, he always follows the
highroad, and doesn't think it mid-day at fourteen
o'clock. For all the gold in the world he would not
cure a patient with other remedies than those prescribed
by the Faculty. . . . He is not one of those doctors who
prolong their patients' complaints, but he is expeditious,
and despatches his "cases" promptly. If you must die,
he is the man to help you to do it quickly.

Poor Monsieur de Pourceaugnac is prescribed for by
this worthy as follows :

First, to cure this obdurate plethora and this luxu-
riant cacochymy throughout the body, I am of opinion
that he should be liberally phlebotomised ; that is to
say, he should be bled frequently and copiously, first, at
the basilic vein, then at the cephalic vein, and, if the dis-
ease be obstinate, the vein in the forehead should be
opened, with an opening so large that the thick blood
may come out. At the same time he should be purged,
deobstructed, and evacuated by proper, suitable purga-
tives, that is, by cholagogues, melanogogues, et caetera ;
for since the real source of all the evil is either a gross
and feculent humour, or a black and thick vapour, which
obscures, infects, and contaminates the animal spirits, it

298 MOLIERE

is proper that he should afterwards take a bath of soft,
clean water, with plenty of whey, to purify, by the water,
the feculence of the gross humours, and to clear, by the
whey, the blackness of this vapour.

Should the miserable patient survive this treatment, a
second doctor was ready to order " blood lettings and
purgatives in odd numbers (numero deus impare gaudet}"
and command a small clyster to serve as a prelude "to
those judicious remedies, from which, if he is to be cured
at all, he ought to receive relief." All this was but an ex-
ordium to the ballet interlude danced and sung to Lully's
measures, wherein the poor victim is pursued by a num-
ber of doctors and apothecaries, each armed with a huge
syringe: a scene by far the most suggestive in a comedy
rather too indelicate for the present day, though one of
the sprightliest Moliere ever penned.

These continued attacks upon the Faculty brought
forth a quasi-defender of the craft in Le Boulanger de
Chalussay, the title of whose play, Elomire hypocondre ou
les Medecins venges,1 may be translated as meaning Moliere,
the Imaginary Invalid. " I believe I am ill," says Elomire,
a character whose name is an anagram of Moliere, " and
he who believes he is ill, is ill." After patronising the
charlatans of the Pont Neuf, Elomire finally falls into
the hands of three doctors whose prescriptions so terrify
him that he whispers to his servant, " They make me so
afraid, I think of dying," — a remark which calls forth

1 This play, which was published in 1670, has already been quoted
in previous chapters for statements bearing upon Moliere' s life. See
pages 9, 1 6, 19, 86, and 290. Although purporting to avenge the
doctors, they are, in reality, satirised almost as severely in thi"s comedy
as in Moliere's own plays.

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 299

this timely advice : " Dream of getting well. Some day
you can make a comedy of your experiences."

Indeed, some two years after Chalussay's play was
published, Moliere wrote The Imaginary Invalid (Le
Malade imaginaire]^ a comedy in which many writers have
seen a travesty by the author upon himself. Moliere
was too ill, however, to paint himself as an imaginary in-
valid, therefore it is more reasonable to see in his play a
final shaft aimed at the physicians who had proved so in-
capable of arresting the ravages of a disease soon destined
to prove fatal. Argan, our poet's hypochondriac, there
exclaims :

Your Moliere is an impudent fellow with his comedies,
and I think he might show better taste than to put such
honest men as doctors on the stage ... If I were one
of them, I should be revenged for his impertinence, and
if ever he fell ill, I 'd let him die without professional
assistance. Whatever he might say or do, I would not
order him the smallest blood letting. I 'd say to him,
" Die ! die ! that will teach you, once for all, not to ridi-
cule the Faculty."

These lines proved an augury. The Imaginary Invalid
was produced on the tenth of February, 1673, and at
its fourth performance the author was seized with haemor-
rhage while playing the title role, and died a few hours
later, — a calamity in which the physicians saw a heavenly
vengeance for the insults heaped upon them.

The principal character in this, the last of Moliere' s
medical satires, is Argan, a hypochondriac, whose obses-
sion that he is suffering from a complication of serious
maladies is humoured by Beline, his designing second
wife, with the hope that physic will eventually make her
husband's worldly goods her heritage. The action turns

300 MOLIERE

upon the efforts of Cleante, an enterprising lover, to
frustrate Argan's intention of marrying his daughter
Angelique to a physician's son, in which purpose the
young man is aided and abetted by a maid-of-all-work
named Toinette, — by far the most pert and quick-witted
of the author's many captivating soubrettes.

In the opening scene the hypochondriac is discovered
checking his apothecary's accounts, and after we have
listened to an enumeration of the doses of catholicon,
rhubarb, cassia, and senna to which the poor man has
been subjected, the wonder is that he is still alive. His
chief concern, however, lies in the discovery that he is
not so well as formerly, because he has not consumed as
much medicine as during the previous month, — an over-
sight MjQjosi£ii£_Purgpn, his physician, must remedy.

From Toinette this imaginary invalid learns he is " the
milch cow " of his doctor and apothecary ; and when he
informs his daughter Angelique that she is to be given
in marriage to a doctoral son of a doctor, the maid's
impudent tongue wags freely. " What ! " she says,
" with all your wealth would you marry your daughter
to a doctor?" "I want a medical son-in-law," Argan
replies, "so that I may have in my own household the
source of all the necessary remedies, consultations, and
prescriptions," — a design his entire family, with the ex-
ception of his wife, conspires to frustrate. Angelique's
admirer, Cleante, is smuggled into the house disguised
as^a musicteacker to make love under Argan's very
nose, but is unmasked through the naive disclosures of
the latter's little daughter, Louispn, whereupon Toinette
comes to the rescue. Disguised as a physician, she in-
gratiates herself into her master's good graces by pre-
scribing new remedies, and proposes that he shall feign

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 301

death in order to discover the true feelings of his family,
— a ruse conceived for .the purpose of exposing Beline,
a sort oJJemjal^JCartiiffe, who has been abetting her hus-
band's folly with a view to robbing him. When this
hypocrite appears, being told that her husband has just
expired, she exclaims :

Heaven be praised ! now I am delivered of a great
load . . . what use was he when on earth ? A man
burdensome to all around, — a dirty, disgusting crea-
ture, ever blowing his nose, coughing, or spitting.

Before she can carry out her base purpose of seizing
his papers and money, the supposed dead man springs
to his feet, — a resurrection which causes the false wife to
flee in terror from the house. When the same stratagem is
used upon Angelique, Argan learns the difference between
real and assumed affection. Hearing his grief-stricken
daughter swear compliance with his last wishes regarding
her marriage, the overjoyed hypochondriac consents to
her union with Cleante on condition that he become a
physician, — a proviso modified by his brother Beralde's
suggestion that Argan himself take up that profession.

A ballet interlude in the shape of a mock ceremony
whereby Argan is given his degree by a band of pseudo-
physicians, surgeons, and apothecaries concludes the
play, — a whimsical bit of humour, which, in the words
of M. Raynaud, "must be considered not only as an
abridgment of doctoral ceremonies, but of all those
through which a candidate passes from the commence-
ment of his studies until the day when he receives the
doctor's cap."

This famous scene was devised, according to the
same authority, in Mme. de la Sabliere's salon after a

302 MOLIERE

bohemian supper at which Boileau, La Fontaine, and
Ninon de Lenclos were present, Boileau providing the
macaronic Latin, and " two or three more or less scepti-
cal doctors of Moliere's set " the technical expressions.
However, to quote M. Mesnard, " one cannot believe
in the preciseness of the terms in which this story is
told," since Monchesnay,1 the authority from whom it
is derived, places the scene in the salon of Ninon de
Lenclos.

The Imaginary Invalid fairly bristles with satire aimed
at the Faculty. For instance, when Argan asserts that
Monsieur Purgon, his doctor, has an " income of eight
thousand good livres," Toinette exclaims that " he must
have killed a great many men to be as rich as that."
Again, in a scene wherein Dr. Diafoirus comes to intro-
duce his son Thomas to Angelique, his intended bride,
the illiberality of the Faculty receives many a telling
thrust. " What pleases me most in him," the elder
Diafoirus exclaims regarding his son's talents, " is that
he follows my example by blindly accepting the opinions
of the ancients without seeking to understand or listen
to reason and experience regarding the pretended discov-
eries of our century in respect to the circulation of the
blood and other opinions of a like nature." The elder
Diafoirus, too, exposes the chicanery of his craft when
he exclaims that "it is easy to deal with the populace
because you are responsible for your actions to none,
and, provided you follow the current of the rules of your
art, you need not be uneasy ; but the vexatious part of
treating people of quality is that when they fall ill, they
absolutely demand that their physicians cure them."

Bol&ana.

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 303

The most uncompromising attack upon medicine oc-
curs, however, in a long and, it must be confessed, tedi-
ous scene, in which Argan's brother, Beralde, expounds
the author's own views in the following manner :

Between ourselves, I consider medicine one of the
greatest follies of mankind ; and to look philosophically
at things, I do not know a more amusing mummery, nor
do I see anything more ridiculous than for one man to
undertake to cure another. . . . The springs of our
machine are a mystery, of which, up to the present time,
men have seen nothing ; since nature has placed too thick
a veil before our eyes for us to know anything about
it. ... Most of the doctors have a deal of classical
learning, know how to speak in good Latin, can name
all the diseases in Greek, define and classify them ; but
as regards curing them they know nothing at all.

This sounds like a wail from Moliere's own heart.
Indeed, each of his medical comedies represents a phase
of his incurable malady. Love as a Doctor^ so bitter in
tone, was written when the disease first manifested itself.
After nature had won a temporary triumph, The Doctor
in Spite of Himself was penned to paint in a vein of
pleasantry the impotence of medicine ; then continued
suffering the physicians were unable to alleviate inspired
those more stinging satires, Monsieur de Pourceaugnac
and The Imaginary Invalid, — each an expression of the
author's bitterness toward medicine. In this connection
M. Larroumet speaks pertinently :

Among the causes of hypochondria, stomach troubles
stand pre-eminent, then extreme sensitiveness, moral pre-
occupations, a life of overwork. Are not all these united
in Moliere? The hypochondriac professes either exag-
gerated confidence in medicine or absolute scepticism

3o4 MOLIERE

toward it, often commencing with the one only to finish
with the other ; but, sceptical or confiding, he concerns
himself greatly with medicine, reading medical works with
avidity or seeking to draw doctors into conversation.
After the general practitioner he must have the specialist,
then the advertiser, finally the charlatan. Moliere seems
to have passed through each of these different stages of
the disease. To make doctors speak and behave as he
does, he must have seen some of all classes, while to
discourse about the medicine of his time so accurately
as to call forth the admiration of Maurice Raynaud, he
must have studied it at close range.1

The Imaginary Invalid bears witness to the truth of
this in its half credulous, half sceptical view of medicine ;
for Argan is one phase of Moliere's self, Beralde another.
It was written to amuse the King, but a quarrel with
Lully over the musical features made it first see the
stage at the Palais Royal. Lully, having obtained an
operatic monopoly from his Majesty, grew arrogant and
dictatorial ; so Moliere called in Charpentier, another
composer, to write the ballet interludes, with the result
that Louis took Lully's part ; hence, in writing his last
play, our poet experienced the proverbial ingratitude of
kings.

Though death was breaking his " vital chain," this
comedy shows no diminution in Moliere's mastery of his
art. Argan is a world character, Toinette and Beline
each a familiar type, — the one of feminine craft and im-
pudence, the other of heartless policy ; while Purgon
and the Diafoiruses, father and son, shorn of their fur-
trimmed gowns, stand revealed as academic snobs such
as obtain wherever doctoral caps adorn dull heads.

1 La Comedie de Moliere.

MOLIERE AND THE PHYSICIANS 305

Again the word " farce " dies on one's lips, for although
this masterful play is replete with exaggeration and droll-
ery, no truer characters ever graced a comedy. Who has
not known a peevish invalid ; a crafty step-mother ; or a
pompous, pragmatical physician, prescribing " according
to the rules " ? As a page of human life, The Imagi-
nary Invalid is excelled only by The Misanthrope and
The Hypocrite. As an immortal type, Argan the hypo-
chondriac ranks beside Monsieur Jourdain the upstart
gentleman and Harpagon the miser, — a proof that the
light of Moliere's genius burned undimmed to the
last.

3o6 MOLIERE

XVI

MOLI£RE AND HIS FRIENDS

IN the days when domestic troubles were ripening, gen-
erous friendships were Moliere's solace ; long before the
rupture with his wife drove him to seek an asylum at
Auteuil, he had been in the habit of meeting a few con-
genial spirits such as Chapelle, La Fontaine and Racine
at Boileau's apartment in the rue du Colombier. More-
over, such taverns as the White Sheep and the Lor-
raine Cross rang to the laughter of this gathering of
genius ; but Moliere was no such tippler as Chapelle,
and appears to have exercised a sobering influence dur-
ing more than one bohemian carouse. In all French
literary history there is no coterie more gifted than the
one which habitually assembled under Boileau's roof;
yet it was not without dissension, for Racine's friendship
"was apparently a shade that follows wealth or fame."

When this most classic of French dramatic poets first
met Moliere, he was fresh from his religious training at
Port Royal, yet he does not appear to have been well
grounded in principles of moral rectitude ; after making
his debut as a professional versifier by an ode on the
King's marriage, he became a dramatist and played our
poet a trick so scurvy that even his apologists seek
excuses in vain. Moreover, while his Jansenist friends
were praying for his lost soul, he was writing facetious
letters to his friend the Abbe le Vasseur in mockery of
the religious doings at Port Royal, — a piece of ingrati-
tude quite in keeping with his treatment of Moliere.

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 307

He met the manager of the Palais Royal some time
previous to the year 1663 and induced him to present
'The Thebaid, his first tragedy. Furthermore, the young
man was paid what we now call " advanced royalties,"
and there is considerable evidence indicating that Moliere
edited his manuscript in order to make it suitable for the
stage. Although The Thebdid was played only a few
times and to small receipts, he produced Alexander^ the
young dramatist's next tragedy, on December fourth,
1665 ; yet when the new piece had attained a consider-
able success, Racine, regardless of Moliere's kindness
to an unknown author, surreptitiously placed it in re-
hearsal at the Hotel de Bourgogne, and, despite the
unwritten law of the day that a play until printed was
the property of the troupe first presenting it, Alexander
was given there on December eighteenth without warning
to the management of the Palais Royal. Racine's sole
excuse for this shabby behaviour was dissatisfaction
with the interpretation Moliere's players had given his
tragedy.

In his Register La Grange says, " the troupe believing
that after having treated them so badly as to have given
and taught other actors his play, it owed no author's
royalties to the said M. Racine, the said author's royal-
ties were divided, each of the twelve actors receiving his
share," — a piece of retributive justice no one can gain-
say ; yet Moliere was so magnanimous as to defend
his young rival's comedy 'The Pleaders (Les Plaideurs).
'This comedy is excellent," he exclaimed, "and those
who ridicule it deserve to be ridiculed themselves " ; 1 yet
even to Moliere's courtesy there was a limit, for, not con-
tent with taking his tragedy to the Hotel de Bourgogne,

1 Memoires sur la vie de Jean Racine by Louis Racine, the poet's son.

jo8 MOLIERE

Racine made love to the Italian beauty Therese de
Gorla du Pare and induced her to desert Moliere's forces
during the Easter closing of his theatre (1667), — a last
straw, it would seem, for thereafter Moliere severed all
friendly relations with the younger poet. Indeed, about
a year thereafter, The Foolish Quarrel; or, The Criticism
of Andromachus (La Folle querelle ou la Critique cT Andro-
maque) by one Subligny was placed upon the stage of the
Palais Royal, — a play, as its title suggests, satirising
Racine. To quote M. Mesnard, "as a plate of ven-
geance it was not served very hot ; moreover, it was
very badly cooked and without sufficient salt " ; 1 yet, as
this same writer adds, " one likes to think that Moliere
did not wish to wage a more wicked war."

Although Racine's Alexandrines are the noblest in
French dramatic poetry, his treatment of Moliere can
only be described as base ; yet Boileau could not have
remained his friend through life had he been so con-
temptible a man as his behaviour on this occasion would
indicate. This most independent critic of his day was
wont to bestow his praise wherever due, his censure
whenever merited ; yet despite the quarrel which sepa-
rated Moliere and Racine, he retained the friendship of
both poets until death had silenced their lyres. His
judgment of their achievements, too, was discriminating,
his friendship valiant; for when The School for Wives
was attacked so viciously by the critics for its supposed
impiety, he became Moliere's defender ; yet he was
equally sincere in condemning his actor friend for allying
himself with Tabarin.2

1 Notice biograpbique sur Moliere.

2 On the occasion of the production of The Rascalities of Scapin.
See page 352.

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 309

Boileau's acquaintance with Racine dates from 1664,
and, to quote Professor Crane, " it ripened into the
most perfect friendship known in the annals of literary
history";1 yet he was equally the confidant of Moliere.
Indeed, each poet found in him an ardent admirer and
impartial critic ; for in judging their works his acumen
was singularly discriminating. Although his friendship
with Racine was perhaps deeper than his regard for
Moliere, when asked by the King what great writer had
most honoured his reign, he did not hesitate to answer,
" Moliere, sire." " I think not," Louis replied ; " but
you know better than I,"2 — at once a tribute to the
judgment of Boileau and of posterity.

In view of the confession of faith made in his ninth
satire, it is not surprising to find Boileau so ardent an.
admirer of Moliere. " Nothing is beautiful but the
truth," he there exclaims ; " the truth alone is lovable ! "
Moreover, Brossette asserts that Boileau was the de-
clared enemy of everything which offends reason, nature,
or truth." 3 Where could he have found a more valiant
defender of his creed than in the great apostle of dra-
matic truth ?

Boileau, too, showed scant mercy toward such af-
fected poets as Chapelain, Quinault, and Cotin, and he
held that the novels Mile, de Scudery "gave birth
to each month, were artless, languishing writings seem-
ingly shaped in spite of good sense,"4 — a stricture upon

1 Les Heros de roman.

2 Louis Racine tells this anecdote in his Memoires, and as Moliere is
awarded the palm over his father, there should be little doubt regarding
its truth.

8 Boleeana.

4 Boileau's second satire, dedicated to Moliere.

3io MOLIERE

bad taste and affectation clearly evincing a mind capable
of appreciating Moliere's sane philosophy of life. Still,
it was almost in spite of himself that he admired the
actor poet above all other writers of his day ; for he was
unable to see that the homely logic of Sganarelle was as
true as the exalted philosophy of Alceste. Moreover,
Moliere was too thoroughly a friend of the people to
suit Boileau's taste, too disregardful of the dignity of his
art for the critic to pardon his friend's persistence in con-
tinuing on the stage after he had become a poet of the
first magnitude.

In this connection Brossette l tells an anecdote clearly
illustrating Boileau's views. It appears that a short time
before Moliere's death the two friends indulged in an
amicable dispute inspired by a fear on the critic's part
that Moliere was leading too strenuous a life for a man
in his physical condition. After arguing with his over-
worked friend upon the necessity of retiring from the
stage for the sake of his health, Boileau thus adjured
him :

" Content yourself with writing and leave the acting
to one of your comrades. This will make you more
respected by the public, who will consider your actors
as your supernumeraries. Moreover, the players them-
selves, none too submissive to you now, will better feel
your superiority."

Moliere's answer shows at once the man of over-
wrought nerves and the actor " whose advantage is
applause " :

"Ah, my dear sir, how can you speak so! It is a
point of honour with me not to give up."

Boileau saw the futility of arguing with one so wedded

1 Bol&ana.

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 311

to the footlights ; his own feelings are shown in the
reflections he made at the moment :

A pretty point of honour, indeed, to blacken his
face daily to produce the moustache of Sganarelle and
give his back to all the beatings of comedy ! What, this
man, in perception and true philosophical feeling the
first of our time, this ingenious censor of all human
follies, cherishes one greater than any he ridicules daily !
That thoroughly shows how little men amount to after
all.

In the republic of letters Boileau was a censorious
patrician, Moliere the people's tribune ; hence the one
could not understand that the hearty laughter of the pit,
far more than the supercilious smile of the courtier seated
on the stage, told the other that he had revealed true
human nature. It was a point of honour with Moliere
not to give up, because he was at once the public's idol
and its slave, — an actor living for the hand claps, a poet
whose Parnassus was the stage, though his muse dwelt in
the surging pit. Love of the theatre was in his blood,
and he could no more give up while the breath of life was
in him than Boileau, the haughty critic, could have bared
his back to those beatings of comedy. His actor friend
was the author of The Misanthrope ; so Boileau condoned,
but did not pardon him, the crime of being a farceur.
He knew the depth, but failed to see the breadth, of his
genius.

A friend of a different cloth was Claude-Emmanuel
Chapelle, the comrade of Moliere's youth. A natural
son of Fra^ois Luillier, maitre des comptes, this epicurean
roisterer and dilettante poet took his name from La
Chapelle St. Denis, his birthplace. Being legitimised at
the age of sixteen, upon his father's death in 1652 he

MOLlfiRE

inherited a considerable fortune, whereupon he gave him-
self over completely to a life of pleasure, divided about
equally between society and vice. In the fashionable
world he was well received, but he never sacrificed an
hour of amusement for a social engagement.

Once when pressed by the Due de Brissac to pay a
visit to his family seat, Chapelle left Paris in company
with his Grace, but happening to dine at Augers with a
canon of his acquaintance, he chanced upon these words
in a copy of Plutarch, " He who follows the great be-
comes a slave" ; whereupon he left the duke to pursue
his way alone. On another occasion, having an engage-
ment to dine with the great Conde, he took a stroll before
the appointed hour, and chancing upon some pall-mall
players he was invited to settle a disputed point. His
decision was so just that they asked him to sup with
them, — an invitation which made him forget his prom-
ise to the prince. " In truth, your Highness," he said
in excuse, " the people who invited me to supper were
worthy folk and they knew thoroughly well how to
live."

An incorrigible votary of Bacchus, Chapelle was locked
up at the age of twenty in a correctionary prison.
Bachaumont, the collaborator of his youth, forsook dis-
sipation for matrimony, and astonished his friends by
proclaiming that " an honest man ought to live at the
door of a church and die in the sacristy " ; but Chapelle
never forswore the doctrine that pleasure is the highest
good. His fondness for the wine cup was indeed a
source of anxiety to his friends. On one occasion Boi-
leau, meeting him in the street, reproached him for this
failing. " I have resolved to reform," Chapelle replied,
" I feel the truth of your arguments " ; then, suggesting

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 313

that if they entered a neighbouring tavern they might
finish their talk undisturbed, the wretch filled Boileau's
glass so frequently that his temperance advocacy ended
in intoxication.1

Moliere' s intimacy with Chapelle began when they
were both students of Gassendi, the epicurean ; yet the
dramatist was no such disciple of pleasure as his disso-
lute comrade. Indeed their friendship was apparently
due to that contrariety in taste which occasionally brings
strong, opposing natures into intimate relations. In
1667 they rented an apartment together in a country
house at Auteuil from one Jacques de Grou, sieur de
Beaufort, where Moliere resided until he became recon-
ciled to his wife,2 but Chapelle was only a periodical visi-
tor. In the words of Grimarest : 3

The friendship they formed at college continued un-
til the last moment ; yet Chapelle was not a comforting
friend. He was too dissipated, and, although he loved
truly, he was not capable of fulfilling those assiduous
duties which awaken friendship. He had, however, an
apartment in Moliere's house at Auteuil, but it was more
for the purpose of making merry than for leading a serious
life.

" Not only a good actor, but an excellent author,
Moliere took care," according to this same authority,
" to cultivate philosophy," and in argument with
Chapelle took the side of Descartes in opposition to
Gassendi's doctrines. Although Chapelle was sincere,
" this quality was often founded on false principles, from

1 Mtfmoires by Louis Racine.

a Les Points obscurs de la vie de Moliere by Jules Loiseleur.
8 Fairly trustworthy as an authority for the events of Moliere's later
years.

MOLIERE

which he could not be reclaimed. Wishing to offend no
one, he could not, however, resist the pleasure of speak-
ing his mind or of passing a witticism at the expense of
his friends."

Chapelle was vain, too, being accused of boasting that
he had written the best part of Moliere's phantasy, The
Bores; but their relations were not chilled thereby, and
whenever he left Paris to visit friends in the country it
was his pleasure to send Moliere succulent pasties baked
expressly for him, — a tangible argument in favour of
epicurean truth.

Grimarest tells an amusing anecdote of Chapelle in his
cups, which well illustrates Moliere's tact, — a quality so
necessary to a theatrical manager. Chapetle, it appears,
returning from Auteuil in his habitual state of intoxica-
tion, insisted upon making a favourite servant, invariably
accorded the privilege of riding on the seat beside him,
descend and mount the footman's platform. The man,
accustomed to his master's habits, took this command as
a mere drunken caprice with the result that Chapelle be-
gan to pommel him for his disobedience. The coach-
man was obliged to descend and separate the belligerents,
whereupon the offending servant fled, pursued by his
irate master. Moliere, luckily a witness of the scene,
came to the rescue and was appealed to as arbiter,
Chapelle maintaining that his rascally servant had
usurped a seat in his carriage, and the culprit that he
had been privileged to ride with his master for fully
thirty years. The poet's judgment was worthy of
Solomon. " You were wrong," he told the valet, " to be
disrespectful to your master; therefore I condemn you to
mount behind his carriage and ride to the end of the
meadow. There you will politely beg his permission

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 315

to enter the vehicle, — a boon I feel sure he will grant."
" Egad, Moliere," cried Chapelle, " I am greatly obliged
to you, for the affair was embarrassing. Good-bye, my
dear friend ; you judge better than any man in France."

Another of Moliere's friends whose vagaries must be
attributed to genius was La^^ntajrie^jthe Jkhulist, — a
man whose utter indifference to the obligations and
restraints of life was the distinguishing feature of his
character. To his lasting credit he adhered nobly in
the hour of disgrace to Fouquet, the man whose bounty
he had enjoyed ; yet he was the spoiled child of Moliere's
literary circle, where he was affectionately addressed as
le bonhomme. So absent minded that he would sit for
hours at a time in a state of abstraction, he became the
object of many jests ; and on one occasion Racine and
Boileau bantered him so cruelly that Moliere, taking a
friend into a corner, exclaimed, " Our fine wits may
frisk as much as they please, but they will never efface
our good fellow there ! " 1 a demonstration of prescience
on the dramatist's part, since La Fontaine, next to him-
self, is now considered the most original genius of that
age. Boileau, however, ignored the fabulist in his criti-
cisms, being doubtless unable to recognise that by
adorning fable with the beauties of poetry his absent
minded friend had created a new branch of literature.

La Fontaine was as simple in evil as in good, and is
reputed never to have told a lie in all his life ; yet in
spite of this admirable quality, he was apparently with-
out moral sense. Without any tangible reason except
tedium, he lived apart from his wife ; and at one time
Boileau and Racine, attempting a reconciliation, per-
suaded him to make the journey to Chateau-Thierry,

1 Histoire de F Academic fran$oise depuis 1652 jusqu'a 1700 by Olivet.

316 MOLIERE

where his wife resided, with an olive branch in his hand.
Learning that she was at vespers when he arrived, the
fabulist went to sup with some friends, and was passed
on from house to house during the bad weather which
followed, until he was obliged to return to Paris to attend
a meeting of the Academy without having seen his unfor-
tunate spouse.

He could fill the role of boon companion, however,
and apparently he was a leading spirit in the remarkable
literary club which met in Boileau's apartment. In his
introduction to The Loves of Psyche and Cupid (Les
Amours de Psyche et Cupidon) he has left a charming pen
sketch of this coterie of geniuses :

Four friends whose acquaintance began upon Par-
nassus formed a kind of club which I would call an
academy had their number been larger and had they
possessed as much regard for the Muses as for pleasure.
The first thing they did was to banish formal conversa-
tion and everything that savoured of academic discussion.
When they were met together, and had talked sufficiently
about their amusements, if chance led them to touch
upon any question of science or literature, they profited
by the opportunity, yet invariably without dwelling too
long on any one subject, flying off purposely to another
like bees who meet divers flowers on their way. Envy,
malice, or intrigue found no voice among them. They
adored the works of the ancients, yet did not refuse to
those of the moderns such praise as was their due, speak-
ing of their own performances with modesty, and giving
each other honest advice whenever one of their number
chanced to be seized with the malady of the age and
wrote a book, — an event which rarely happened.

Admitting that Polyphide (the name under which he
introduces himself) was the greatest offender in this

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 317

respect, La Fontaine adds that Acante (Racine) " did not
fail according to custom to propose a walk," while, " of
the two friends whom I shall call Ariste and Gelaste, the
first was serious without being discomforting and the
other extremely gay."

Ariste was Boileau, and Gelaste Moliere, until his
quarrel with Racine brought " envy, malice, and intrigue "
into that charmed circle, when the name Gelaste was
used to indicate Chapelle.1 Upon Moliere's retirement
to his asylum at Auteuil, he, instead of Boileau, was the
most serious member of the Parnassian coterie described
by La Fontaine ; for, despite his quarrel with Racine,
his relations with the other intellects of that charmed
circle remained unaltered. Moreover, he was not per-
mitted to live in his retreat unmolested, as an amusing
anecdote well testifies.

It appears that one day Chapelle, Boileau, and a
number of Moliere 's gay friends went to Auteuil, unin-
vited, boldly announcing that they had come to supper.

" I would have been more pleased," said the drama-
tist, "were it possible for me to keep you company, but
the state of my health will not permit it. I leave to
M. Chapelle the duty of entertaining you."

What a picture of Alceste in his desert Moliere's words
convey ! Too ill to entertain his friends, he was forced
to drink his milk and leave them to carouse under the
leadership of Chapelle.

" Egad, I 'm a great fool," said that epicurean, " to
come here every day and get drunk for the honour of
Moliere ; but what provokes me most is that he believes
I am obliged to do it."

Moliere was right in this conjecture. At three in the

1 Notice biograpbique sur Moliere by Paul Mesnard.

3i8 MOLIERE

morning, with the poet's wine singing in his veins,
Chapelle preached a cynical sermon to his maudlin
comrades :

" Life is but a trifle, replete with obstacles. For
thirty or forty years we lie in wait for a moment of
pleasure we never meet. Our youth is tormented by
wretched parents who wish us to cram our heads with a
heap of nonsense. I don't care a hang whether the
earth or the sun turns, whether that fool Descartes or
that madman Aristotle is right. I once had a crazy
teacher who told that twaddle to me over and over
again and kept me for ever falling back on Epicurus.
Once more, pass that philosopher by. He was the one
who knew the most. No sooner are we rid of such
fools than our ears are deafened with talk about a do-
mestic establishment. All women are but animals, the
sworn enemies of our tranquillity. Yes, egad, there is
nothing in life but trouble, injustice, and misfortune."

Upon hearing this discourse, one of Chapelle's drunken
companions embraced him fondly and exclaimed :

" You are right, my dear friend ; without the pleasure
here, what should we do ? Life is a poor lot. Let us
leave it, and for fear that such good friends as we may
be separated, let us drown ourselves together. The
river is at the door."

" True," said another, " we can never choose a better
time to die happy and good friends ; moreover, our death
will create some noise " ; whereupon the whole melan-
cholically merry company staggered to the river bank and
were just entering a boat with a view to throwing them-
selves into deep water, when Moliere, awakened by
young Baron, his house guest, reached the water's edge
with his servants in the nick of time, for some of his

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 319

friends were already floundering in the Seine. Upon
being dragged ashore, these wretches drew their swords
and chased their rescuers back to Auteuil, where the
most persistent advocate of self destruction thus admon-
ished his host:

" I say, my dear Moliere, you are clever. Judge if
we are wrong. Weary of the troubles of this world, and
in order to be better off, we resolved to enter another.
The river appeared the shortest route, but those rascally
servants of yours blocked it. Can we do less than
chastise them ? "

" How was it possible, gentlemen, for you to conceive
so noble a project without letting me share it ? " Mo-
liere exclaimed, after upbraiding his servants for prevent-
ing the fulfilment of so praiseworthy a design. "What,
you would drown yourselves without me ? I thought
you were better friends of mine than that."

"He's deuced right;" cried Chapelle, " we did him
great injustice." Then, turning to his host, he con-
tinued with drunken fervour, " Come, then, and drown
yourself with us."

" Softly," said Moliere, "this is not an affair to be
undertaken in an unseemly manner. It is the last act
of our life and it must not be lacking in dignity. If we
drown ourselves at this hour, the world would be mean
enough to speak ill of it ; people would surely say that
we did it at night like desperate men or like a lot
of drunkards ; so let us choose the moment most
worthy of our action, the moment which will reflect the
most honour upon ourselves. To-morrow, between
eight and nine in the morning, when still fasting, we
will jump head frst in the river before the whole
world."

320 MOLIERE

Moliere's proposition was received with unanimous
approbation, one of the members of this tipsy suicide
club exclaiming that " Moliere always has a hundred
times more sense than the rest of us," but naturally
death appeared less attractive in the cold grey light of
the morrow.

This famous incident, equal in its comedy to any of
Moliere's own conceptions, is known as the _Aiileuil
supper. The dialogue is taken, verbatim, from Gri-
marest's account, — an abused authority, which in this
instance is corroborated ; for Louis Racine, in his me-
moirs of his father, tells a similar story of this famous
incident, which though "unbelievable," as he declares,
" is thoroughly true." " Fortunately," he continues, " his
father was not there," although "the wise Boileau ' was
one of the party and " lost his senses like the rest."

Moliere's friends were not all roisterers, however. In
the more serious affairs of life he turned for advice and
countenance to Jacques- -RoJiault, the Cartesian, to whom
he unburdened his heart regarding his domestic trials by
exclaiming so bitterly : " Yes, my dear Monsieur Rohault,
I am the most unhappy of all men." This sceptic and
philosopher was a fervent expounder of the doctrines of
Descartes, and doubtless his influence made the poet
forswear the epicurean teachings of Gassendi for the
principle that " Truth requires a clear and distinct con-
ception of its object, excluding all doubt " ; for in his
dramatic work, so truthful in conception, so clear in
treatment, Moliere reflects to a considerable degree this
Cartesian postulate. Furthermore, Grimarest tells a
story of a boat ride on the Seine during which Chapelle
and Moliere indulged in a violent philosophical argument
upon the relative merits of Gassendi and Descartes, with

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 321

a Minim as arbiter, — an incident noteworthy as further
evidence of Moliere's Cartesian leanings.

Grimarest asserts that Rohault served as model for
the philosopher in The Burgher, a Gentleman, adding
that Moliere, wishing to make the likeness unmistakable,
sent Baron to borrow a peculiar old hat which Rohault
invariably wore. The emissary, however, by telling the
purpose for which it was intended, failed to obtain the
desired object, since the philosopher, in the words of
the chronicler, " would have felt himself dishonoured had
his head-dress appeared upon the stage/* Upon another
occasion Rohault played a part in no way philosophical ;
yet, as the event presents Moliere in a new and favourable
manner, the digression its recountal demands should be
pardonable. It concerns the elder Jean Poquelin's none
too scrupulous accounting as executor of his first wife's
estate, and Moliere's charitableness when his father be-
came involved in financial difficulties toward the close
of his life.

According to his mother's will, the poet inherited five
thousand livres, and, before he left Paris, his father had
paid him, or advanced to settle his debts, about a thou-
sand livres of this amount. During the next few years
he must have received additional sums ; for in April,
1651, he gave his father a written acknowledgment for
the receipt of nineteen hundred and sixty-five livres, all
told; while between 1660 and 1664 Poquelin senior
advanced his son various sums aggregating fifteen hun-
dred and twelve livres seven sous, which Moliere de-
clared upon his father's death were not a debt to the
estate. When all these various amounts are taken into
account, it is apparent, according to M. Eudore Soulie,1
Rechercbes sur Moliere.

322 MOLI£RE

that there was an unpaid balance from his mother's
estate due Moliere, at the time of his father's death, of
more than fifteen hundred livres ; and in view of this
state of affairs the poet's generosity toward his father
appears exceedingly meritorious, for, although Jean
Poquelin senior was apparently his debtor, Moliere
loaned the upholsterer in 1668 the sum of ten thousand
livres, without interest, for the purpose of repairing
the parental house in the arcades of the market-place.
Moreover, to hide his identity as benefactor, he made
use of the name of his friend Jacques Rohault the phi-
losopher,— a fact made apparent only after Moliere's
death by his widow's discovery of the papers in the case.

Jean Poquelin senior died February twenty-fifth,
1669, at the age of seventy-three, leaving a number of
debts for his son to pay ; and M. Soulie maintains that
during the last years of his life he was " a morose old
man, and somewhat of a miser," who " rejected the
offers of help his son doubtless made him on several
occasions until Moliere was forced finally to hide his
identity when coming to his father's assistance." This
loan to Jean Poquelin senior is not the only recorded
instance of Moliere's liberality, for Grimarest tells a
story in which his bountifulness is made even more
apparent.

It appears that an actor named Mondorge, whom the
poet had known in his " barn storming" days, had fallen
into penury. Young Baron, restored in 1670 to his
benefactor's good graces, was staying at Auteuil when
this indigent comedian appeared to seek Moliere's as-
sistance. Touched by the man's story of misfortune,
he volunteered to act as intermediary.

" It is true," said Moliere, when he had heard his

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 323

friend's account of Mondorge's ill luck, " that we once
played comedy together. He is a most worthy man,
and I am sorry his affairs are in such a state. How
much do you think I ought to give him ? "

Baron, considering four pistoles sufficient to enable
Mondorge to join a travelling company, finally suggested
that sum, whereupon Moliere replied :

"Very well, I shall give him four pistoles for my
part, since you consider it sufficient, but here are twenty
more I shall add for you, in order that he may realise
he is indebted to you for the service I have rendered
him. I also have a theatrical costume I no longer need.
Give it him — the poor man may find it useful in his
profession."

This costume, it appears, was "almost new and had
cost Moliere twenty-five hundred livres," while the man-
ner in which he received his poverty stricken comrade
was in keeping with this generosity ; for, once more to
quote Grimarest, " he seasoned the present with the
good welcome he gave Mondorge."1

Another anecdote characteristic of Moliere's generous
nature is told by the same writer. An honest beggar, it
appears, returned a gold piece the poet had given him
by mistake. " Keep it, my friend," Moliere replied,
" and here is another " ; the open-handed giver adding
philosophically, " where will Virtue next hide herself? " 2

Among the few detached poems left by Moliere are
two animated by friendship. One, a eulogy called The
Glory of the Val-de-Grace (La Gloire du Val-de-Grace\
was inspired by a fresco depicting the glory of the

1 As Baron, Grimarest' s informant, figures in this story, its trust-
worthiness need not be seriously questioned.

8 Anonjmiana, ou Melanges de poesies, <T eloquence, et d9 erudition.

324 MOLIERE

Blessed, painted by Pierre Mignard, to adorn the church
of Val-de-Grace which Anne of Austria had erected in
the rue St. Jacques; the other was a sonnet written to
console La Mothe le Vayer for the loss of his son.

The reader will recall the painter whose work inspired
the longer of these poems as the dramatist's friend in the
days when he toured the provinces. Although twelve
years his senior, Mignard was Moliere's life long con-
fidant, and an intimate of the Bejarts as well ; for he
witnessed Genevieve's ;marriage contract, while Made-
leine chose him as an executor for her estate. A book
published in 1700 speaks of Moliere as having "written
The Glory of the Val-de-Grace in favour of Monsieur
Mignard whose daughter he loved " ; but this young
person was only sixteen when Moliere died, and prob-
ably not more than eleven at the time his poem was
composed, so it is needless to see in the poet's supposed
affection for her another amour. Moliere, however, fer-
vently pleaded her father's cause with Colbert, to whom
the painter was then persona non grata^ and his apotheosis
of Mignard's fresco is so laudatory that he has frequently
been reproached for extravagantly commending a medi-
ocre work of art ; yet Boileau was equally excessive in his
tribute to Moliere's verses in saying that —

Of all his works the poem he wrote in praise of his
friend the famous Mignard is the most regular and sus-
tained in its versification. . . . This poem . . . might pass
for a complete treatise on painting, for the author has
made all the rules of that admirable art appear in it.1

Moliere's verses are well turned and graceful, it is true,
yet the modern critic will be inclined to find these words

1 Recreations litter air es by Cizeron Rival.

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 325

of praise quite as excessive as the apotheosis they extol.
As an evidence, however, of the warmth and sincerity of
Moliere's friendship for Mignard, The Glory of the Val-
de-Grace is worthy of sincere commendation ; and the
same may be said of the sonnet inscribed to La Mothe
le Vayer.

This sceptic and philosopher was Moliere's senior by
some thirty-four years ; the son whose death inspired his
pathetic lines, a churchman and writer of nearly his own
age ; and although his friendship for the father must have
been rather in the nature of veneration, there is a tragic
note in his poem which is almost prophetic ; for only a
few weeks later the man who so touchingly expressed
paternal grief lost his own first born. This occurred in
1664, long before the quarrel with his wife and his retire-
ment to Auteuil; but the affecting sonnet to La Mothe
le Vayer, written before death and domestic misery had
saddened his own life, shows that he possessed " the
noble heart and beautiful mind" he attributes to his
friend's dead son.

In 1667, at the time of his retirement to Auteuil, Mo-
liere became so ill that he was obliged to leave the stage
for two months; but the quiet of a suburban village so
restored his health that soon he was able to interfere in a
quarrel wherein a choleric gardener was endeavouring to
break the head of his master's son-in-law. Aided by his
friends, the contumacious menial was locked in Moliere's
own room by the poet, whereupon the affair was made a
case at law, Moliere's name appearing, together with the
details of the rumpus, in a Jurisdiction seigneuriale, dated
August twenty-first and twenty-second, i66j.1

1 Les Points obscurs de la vie de Moliere by Jules Loiseleur. Piece
justificative communicated by M. Parent de Rosan.

326 MOLIERE

The apartment Moliere rented in the Sieur de Beaufort's
house at Auteuil for four hundred livres a year was, ac-
cording to M. Loiseleur,1 "extremely simple." Situated
on the ground floor, it comprised a kitchen, a dining-
room, and a bedroom, together with two attic rooms on
the second floor. Moliere possessed the right of " walk-
ing in the park," while for twenty ecus a year additional
rent he secured a bedroom in which to lodge his friends.
In these modest quarters the poet dwelt during the years
he remained separated from his wife, being visited from
time to time by his many intimates, among whom remains
to be mentioned Bernier, a former schoolmate who paid V
him a visit at Auteuil after returning from a long sojourn
in the dominions of the Great Mogul.

The poet's household was in keeping with the modesty
of his apartments. At the time of his death he was
served by three domestics, — a cook, Renee Vannier,
known as La Forest, Catherine Lemoyne, a housemaid,
and Proven9al, a manservant. The name of Moliere's
cook apparently remained a fixture, for one Louise
Lefebvre, called La Forest, died in 1668, while Renee
Vannier, her successor, received the same sobriquet.

One of these geniuses of the spit is the La Forest to
whom Moliere is reputed to have read his comedies with
the assurance that her verdict would be sustained by the
"gallery gods." Brossette, in recounting the anecdote,
adds that " she had sufficient literary acumen not to con-
found Brecourt's work with Moliere's," while, according
to Grimarest, she accompanied her master to the theatre
and evidently performed some trifling services there, for
La Grange records a payment to her of three livres.
Her laughter, too, welled heartily on the occasion when
1 Les Points obscurs de la vie de Moliere.

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 327

the dramatist, acting the part of Sancho Panza, was forced
by the perversity of the ass upon which he was mounted
to make his entrance before his cue. Indeed, La Forest
must have served as a model for Moliere's pert servant
characters, such as Dorine in The Hypocrite and Toinette
in The Imaginary Invalid.

Grimarest states that the valet Proven9al once received
a kick from his master after having put on a stocking
wrong side out, this writer adding that Moliere "was the
most exacting man in the world in the matter of being
served," since "a window opened or closed a moment
before he had ordered it threw him into a convulsion,"
all of which proves that his nerves were easily excited, —
a characteristic of most great artists. As Proven9al is
reputed to have used a translation Moliere had made of
Lucretius as curling papers for his master's wig, the kick
seems amply justified.1 Indeed, much in the way of
irritability may be pardoned a man of Moliere's nfany
occupations, for no one filling the varied roles of actor,
manager, and play writer could long maintain an equable
temper. In answer to reproaches made by Chapelle
upon his preoccupation, these heartfelt words are put
into the poet's mouth by Grimarest :

Ah, my dear sir, you are really amusing. For you
it is easy to devise this mode of life. You are isolated
from everything; so you can, if you wish, think a fort-
night over one witticism, without any one troubling you,
and then go, well warmed with wine, to tell it everywhere

1 M. Monval in Lettres au Mercure sur Moliere quotes Tralage as
saying that this manuscript was offered to a publisher by the poet's
widow, who refused it on the ground that it was "too much opposed to
the immortality of the soul." If this be so, it could not have been burnt
by the valet.

328 MOLIERE

at the expense of your friends, for you have nothing else
to do. But if, like me, you were busy striving to please
the King ; if you had forty or fifty unreasonable people
to support and direct, a theatre to maintain, and plays to
write in order to ensure your reputation, on my word,
you would not think of laughing, nor would you pay so
much attention to your witticisms and jests, which, believe
me, do not hinder you from making many enemies.

Moliere was a dreamer who cared little for society, —
"a contemplator," as Boileau called him, who preferred
the companionship of a few intimates to the attentions of
the many. Those whom he esteemed remained attached
to him through life ; for he who defined friendship with
such conviction in The Misanthrope counted among his
associates the most brilliant men and women of his day,
-such as the great Conde, the Marechal de Vivonne,
Madame de la Sabliere, and Ninon de Lenclos, whom
Moliere considered " the person of the great world upon
whom humour made the quickest impression." He
repaid all the dinners he received, but his function in
society was apparently to observe ; for De Vize, in his
comedy of Zelinde^ makes a shopkeeper say of him :

Elomire did not speak a word. I found him lean-
ing on my counter in the attitude of a man who dreams.
His eyes were glued upon two or three persons of quality
who were bargaining for laces, and he appeared attentive
to their conversation ; for the movement of his eyes in-
dicated that he was searching the depths of their souls
for the things they did not say : I believe, however, he
had a memorandum book and that, hidden by his cloak,
he wrote down, unseen, the most pertinent things they
said.

During the visits paid by his troupe to the houses
of great nobles, Moliere studied the manners and ways

MOLIERE AND HIS FRIENDS 329

of the company he entertained, but, as M. Larroumet
exclaims : " That did not suffice. He must know his
models in a more friendly and freer way; so he accepted
their invitations/'

The author of Zelinde makes one of his characters in-
vite Moliere to meet "three or four sorry jesters," with
the assurance that he "will not leave without the ma-
terial for three or four comedies." Indeed Moliere's
habitual attitude in society was that of an observer, — a
quality early made apparent by the stories told of his
doings in Maitre Gely's barber-shop at Pezenas. In
tfhe Criticism of 'The School for Wives he paints this pen
picture of his own social diffidence :

You know the man and his natural laziness in sus-
taining a conversation. Celimene invited him to supper
as a fine wit, yet never did he appear so embarrassed and
stupid as among a dozen persons to whom she had lauded
him and who stared at him as one who could not have
been made of the same clay as themselves. They all
thought he was there to regale the company with witti-
cisms ; that each word falling from his lips must be un-
usual ; that he ought to compose an impromptu upon
everything said, and never ask for a drink except
with an epigram ; but he deceived them cruelly with his
silence.

Moliere was too sincere to pose. Only to such life
long friends as Chapelle, Mignard, Rohault, and Boileau
did he unburden his heart. Once more to quote M.
Larroumet, "In his treatment of his enemies, his rivals,
his patrons, the men of rank, the King, we see a man
honest and upright, yet compliant and cautious," — a
man of the world, in short, skilfully using his knowledge

1 La Com'edie de Moliere.

330 MOLIERE

of human nature to win success in his chosen career, —
a man too relentless in his hatred of imposture to tem-
porise with hypocrites, too sincere to play the courtier,
save as a means to gather material for his " ridiculous
likenesses." For his morality and his views of life, one
must turn to his plays. His subjective writings have
already been dwelt upon, and he has been viewed as
courtier and poet militant. In the comedies now to be
considered he wrote objectively from material he had
collected while playing the silent part of contemplator.

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 331

XVII
THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS

IF a literary play is one in which the quality of the
dialogue transcends the human interest of the story, a
histrionic play is one befitting the stage, or, in the par-
lance of the dramatic profession, "a good acting piece."
With rare exceptions, Moliere's comedies are histrionic ;
hence the use of this word as a specific term demands
some explanation.

Although slavishly transalpine in The Elunderer, it will
be remembered that Moliere became truly Gallic in Les
Precieuses ridicules and militant in The Hypocrite ; while,
from time to time, as a courtier's stratagem to win the
King's regard, he brought forth various trifling skits
upon society. The comedies of his later years, however,
neither militant nor obsequious in tone, abound in life-
like characters and amusing situations. Penned at a
time when Moliere had exhausted his enthusiasm in
futile attacks upon the vices of his day, these plays,
Gallic in quality, Italian or even classic in conception,
depict such failings as avarice and social ambition in a
manner intended to call forth laughter rather than ill-
will. Essentially eclectic in treatment, they are, above
all, stage plays, conceived primarily to amuse an audi-
ence. With the exception of Les Precieuses ridicules,
The Hypocrite, T'he Misanthrope, and two of the militant
satires directed against medicine, they are, of all Moliere's

332 MOLIERE

pieces, those most frequently seen to-day upon the French
stage ; therefore the word " histrionic " is no misnomer.

Were it not for their perennial ability to hold an
audience, the majority of these histrionic comedies might
readily be classed among the Gallic plays. 'The Miser,
for instance, and The Burgher, a Gentleman, are certainly
as national in tone as Sganarelle, yet, being penned during
the later years of Moliere's life, they are so thoroughly
marked by the sure touch of a master craftsman that the
term " histrionic " seems more fitting to distinguish this,
the period when Moliere, worldly wise, experienced as a
manager, and less zealous as a crusader, was content to
write plays well calculated to fill the coffers of his
theatre.

In other words, the histrionic comedies are the work
of a mature man glad to exchange a battered lance for a
keen-pointed rapier, — a man, in short, who had learned
the futility of tilting at windmills. His genius had not
waned, but his zeal was tempered by experience. Only
against the doctors did he ride in battle array, and even
then in a way so half-hearted that death itself seemed no
longer an enemy, but a friend he wished to meet.

No Tartuffe nor Alceste graces this histrionic period,
but, on the other hand, there is no Don Garcia of
Navarre. Chronologically such comedy ballets as The
Magnificent Lovers and Psyche belong to it, but these
are essentially court plays ; moreover, the King suggested
the topic for the one, while both Quinault and Corneille
collaborated with Moliere upon the other; so our poet
is scarcely responsible for their failure to hold a modern
audience. Moliere's medical satires, too, though mili-
tant in tone, are so histrionic in treatment that they might
readily be classed among the comedies of the later period

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 333

The first play, however, to be considered, principally
from the stage point of view, is Amphitryon^ a three-act
comedy in verse based upon Plautus's Amphitruo. The
Latin farce upon which Moliere's play founds itself is a
ludicrous recountal of the visit of Jupiter to Alcmene in
the guise of her lover Amphitryon. Moliere's version
is less vulgar in treatment and far better in construction
than its model ; yet palpably an imitation and dealing
with a mythical subject, it affords a poor example of the
author's surpassing gift of truthful portraiture.

The characters are Greek gods and fabulous mortals,
but even when painting these mythological beings
Moliere could not entirely stifle his love of truth. Am-
phitryon's servant Sosie, and the latter's wife, Cleanthis,
are quite as much of the soil of France as Sganarelle, the
doctor in spite of himself, and Martine, his helpmate.
From the modern point of view, Amphitryon would make
a better opera bouffe than comedy; but Moliere, like
Plautus, wrote for the taste of his time, and, to quote
Bayle, "there are subtleties and pranks in his Amphitryon
which far surpass the raillery of its Latin prototype."
This writer places Amphitryon among Moliere 's best
plays,1 — a judgment modern critics will be likely to
challenge; still, though the subject is mythological and
borrowed from a classic source, the play is a pleasing
phantasy which conserves the wit of Latin comedy while
charming by the luxuriance and gaiety of its language.

The sparkling quality of Amphitryon is enhanced by
the varied metre of its verses. Here, for the first time,
Moliere discards the iambic hexameters of French
dramatic poetry for vers libres, or lines of unequal meas-
ure, while the stately couplet gives place to a varied

1 Dictionnaire bistorique et critique, 1697.

334 MOLIERE

rhyme scheme. Had this freedom from classic despot-
ism been declared in The Hypocrite or The Misanthrope,
Moliere would merit scant approval for his temerity ;
but in Amphitryon, a phantasy resembling in many ways
the ballet interludes which had graced his previous com-
edies, this assertion of poetic license passes for de-
lightful bravado.

The French Alexandrine, gliding upon its classic course
like a mighty river of harmony, possesses a rhythmical
grandeur with which no dramatic verse, except the Greek,
can vie. In the use of this superb measure, so Latin in
spirit that in English its majestic rhythm becomes mere
resonance, Moliere is inferior to Racine, not only because
comedy lends itself less easily than tragedy to a metre so
melodious, but because his sparkling genius demanded
a form of expression at once crisp and succinct ; even
in his versified plays his characters speak the ordinary
language of man.

In such comedies as The Misanthrope, high thoughts
are embodied and pure emotions are rhythmically ex-
pressed ; but imagery is almost entirely lacking. Moliere,
chafing in poetic harness, longed for a more laconic me-
dium with which to colour his truthful portraits of
mankind. Until his day verse had been the sole form
permissible for both tragedy and comedy, yet defying
the canons of French dramatic art, he forsook the
rhythmical form of expression so frequently, that of his
thirty-three existing plays only fourteen are in verse.
Moliere was a master of metrical technic, but his thoughts
came freely and directly without the circumlocutory
metaphors and similes which constitute poetic imagery.
Only in this failure to embellish his noblest sentiments
with vivid figures of speech is he inferior to Shake-

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 335

speare in the province of comedy. In fecundity, as M.

Coquelin has so happily said, he is the great English-

i man's equal; in veracity, his superior. Moliere was a

\ naturalist ; his genius lay, above all else, in telling the

1 plain truth about mankind, — prose was its normal ve-

\hicle. As a poet he has been surpassed, but never as a

writer of concise, vigorous, and truthful prose dialogue, —

a dialogue so expressive of human thoughts and human

emotions that his characters are still as lifelike as on the

day they were drawn.

The verses of Amphitryon which inspired this digres-
sion are at once so delicate and spirited that to many an
Anglo-Saxon their free measure will appear a far more
suitable form for comedy than the classic metre, — that is
to say, for comedy in a light vein. However, Moliere
demonstrated a true poetic insight by writing The Hypo-
crite and The Misanthrope in Alexandrines. In such
stately comedies vers libres would have been out of
harmony. :

Amphitryon was first played at the Palais Royal on
January thirteenth, 1668, and Roederer1 sees in Jupiter's
replacement of Amphitryon as Alcmene's husband a
travesty upon Monsieur de Montespan, who at the
time was indulging in outbursts of jealous rage against
his monarch for estranging his wife's affections. It is
difficult to believe, however, that Moliere was authorised
by Louis to speak ex cathedra upon so delicate a matter,
the more so, because, according to M. Mesnard, the
details of the Montespan affair were then only whispered
at court.

When Moliere next wrote, he wisely forsook verse and
Olympian characters for prose and the every-day people
1 Memoir e pour servir a I* bistoire de la societe polie en France.

33* MOLlkRE

he painted so inimitably. Never has he shown a more
certain grasp of stage requirements than in George Dandin ;
ory The Abashed Husband (George Dandin ou le Mqri
confondu) — a comedy so swift in action, so clever in
situation, and so terse in dialogue that it might justly
serve as a model for all modern writers of stage humour.
In its story of the successful efforts of an unfaithful wife
to hoodwink her husband, vice rather than virtue is tri-
umphant; yet it teaches a moral lesson nevertheless.

George Dandin, the duped husband, is a rich peasant^
proprietor, who has been inspired by a reverence for rank
to marry Angelique, the daughter of an impecunious
nobleman. His marital troubles are due to his wife's
contempt for a husband beneath her in birth, — a con-
tempt shared by her parents. Because a distasteful
marriage with a man inferior to her in both birth and
intellect has so dulled her moral nature that she can see
no possible deliverance from her hateful thrall save in
transgression, Angelique gives her heart to a man of
her own caste and tricks her dull helpmate without
compunction.

Vice is made to triumph in the person of this wife, in
order that Moliere may point the moral that a man who
marries above his station is a fool worthy only of con-
tempt, — a truth thus made apparent by poor George
Dandin himself in the opening speech of the play :

A wife who is born a lady is a strange creature ! and
what a speaking lesson my marriage is to every peasant
who tries to better his place in the world by tying him-
self, like me, to a nobleman's family. Nobility is well
enough, and certainly worth respecting, but the things
that go with it are so bad that I wish I had never rubbed
against it. To my cost, I 've grown wise on that score,

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 337

and now know the ways of the nobility when they wish
to make us enter their families. We don't count in the
bargain ; it is what we have that they marry ; and, rich
as I am, I should have done far better to have married
like a good honest peasant than to have taken a wife who
holds herself better than I am, feels ashamed to bear my
name, and thinks that, with all my money, I have n't
paid dear enough for the honour of being her husband.
George Dandin ! George Dandin ! you have done the
most foolish thing in the world. . . .

In spite of his wealth, George Dandin is of the soil.
When convinced of his wife's misconduct, he would have
beaten her had she been a peasant; but, overawed by
her superior birth, he contents himself with mildly de-
nouncing her behaviour to her parents. " I tell you I
am much dissatisfied with my marriage ! " he exclaims.
u What ! " answers his nobly born mother-in-law, cc can
you speak thus of a marriage from which you have de-
rived such great advantages ? " " The bargain has not
been a bad one for you," the peasant son-in-law retorts,
" for my money has stopped pretty large gaps in the
run-down state of your affairs ; but what have I got by
it, pray, except in making my name longer ? Instead
of being George Dandin, I have gained, through you,
the title of Monsieur de la Dandiniere."

The spirited plot of this play is too intricate to be
recounted in full. Suffice it to say that George, Dandin
is continually ^baffled in his efforts to convince his wife's
parents^ofjheir daughter's misconduct, jiintil^overhearing
a confession of love__made by her to a young nobleman
named Clitandre, he locks his door^ against her, only to
be juped by ajruse of feigned suicidg. When he comes
forth in his night shirt with a lighted candle to search

MOLIERE

for his wife's body, she slips past him in the dark, and,
entering the house, bolts the door. Mistress now of
the situation, Angelique denounces him to her parents
as a drunken brute who has maltreated her ; whereupon
the poor man is forced by his father-in-law to kneel in
his unclad state and beg forgiveness of a wife whom he
knows by her own confession to be false, — a situation
which brings the comedy to a close.

Written to grace a Versailles fete, George Dandin was
first played at court in July, 1668, but in construction
as well as in characterisation it is a histrionic masterpiece.
Some of its situations occur in a story by Boccaccio, and
were used by Moliere in his one-act farce, The Jealousy
of Smutty Face ; yet the author's masterly portraiture ac-
quits him of the charge of plagiarism. George Dandin
is so true to life that he must have been a patron of
Maitre Gely's barber shop at Pezenas, while the origi-
nals of the Baron and Baroness de Sotenville, his parents-
in-law, were doubtless decayed gentlefolks of the Prince
de Conti's court.

The tricks Angelique plays upon her husband are
farcical, yet this story of a parvenu's marriage with a
woman of rank is so thoroughly human that this play,
although absurd in plot, is nevertheless a comedy of
manners of our own as well as of Moliere's day. If an
impecunious nobleman marries his daughter to a peasant
proprietor, or his son to an American heiress, the moral
result is the same ; for, whatever temporary pranks love
may play with social conditions, marriage will not level
all ranks, nor can it be made an object of barter without
courting consequences such as befell poor George Dandin
in his marriage of convenience.

Avarice, " the good old-gentlemanly vice," as Byron

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 339

calls it, is the text of Moliere's next dramatic homily ;
and in the almost tragic fervour of his words this same
preacher skirts the sublime heights he attained in his ser-
mons against hypocrisy and worldliness ; for 'The Miser
(L'Avare), a prose comedy in five acts with cupidity as
its theme, ranks next in point of earnestness to "The Mis-
anthrope and 'The Hypocrite. Being serious in theme, and
from a comedy point of view pure in treatment, it takes
perforce a high place among its author's plays.

The plot is borrowed mainly from the Aulularia of
Plautus ; while, for the various incidents, so many sources
have been drawn upon that, according to Riccoboni, 'The
Miser does not contain four original scenes;1 yet it is
idle to ask who has depicted these before. The same
models have been used, but the same picture has never
been painted ; for although the details are borrowed,
in the ensemble Moliere's sure touch is ever apparent.
Indeed, the name Harpagon has become a household
word. Moliere's miser is a man whose avarice "sticks
deeper, grows with more pernicious root, than summer-
seeming lust," — in short, a lickpenny, who, in the
words of his son's valet, is " of all mortals the hardest
and most close-fisted " ; a man willing to bestow " praise,
esteem, kind words, and friendship, but never money."

He belongs to the bourgeoisie, — a class whose thrift
when carried to excess becomes the vice of avarice. He
has a daughter, Elise by name , and a son who borrows
money at usurious rates from Jewish money-lenders.
Valere, a young man who has introduced himself into
the household in the capacity of steward, is in love with
Elise ; while Cleante, the prodigal son, has fallen a
victim to the charms of Mariane, a penniless young
1 Observations sur la comedie et sur le genie de Mo Her e, 1736.

340 MOLIERE

lady of the neighbourhood. Harpagon, however, up-
sets the plans of these lovers by promising Elise's hand
to a rich man named Anselme and by avowing his in-
tention to marry Mariane himself. Few stronger themes
for a dramatic story exist than the rivalry of a father and
son, — a theme developed so seriously by Moliere in
The Miser that the play at moments, ceasing to be a
comedy, becomes a drama; as, for instance, when
Cleante, learning that, besides being a rival, his father is
the usurer who is lending him money through a Jew at
exorbitant interest rates, thus tears the fifth command-
ment in shreds :

Do you not blush to dishonour your station by the
trade you are engaged in ; to sacrifice glory and reputa-
tion to the insatiable desire of piling crown upon crown,
and to surpass, in matters of interest, the most infamous
tricks that ever were invented by the most notorious
usurers ? . . . Which, think you, is the more criminal,
— he who buys money of which he is in need, or he
who steals money for which he has no use ?

Undismayed by this arraignment and regardless of his
son's passion, Harpagon, aided by a femme d'intrigue
named Frosine, prepares to wed Mariane himself. The
scene wherein the miser instructs his household regard-
ing their duties at the betrothal supper is by far the
most humorous in the play :

Come here, all of you, and let me give you your
orders for this evening and assign to each his task!
Approach, Dame Claude ; I '11 begin with you. Good !
I see you bear your arms [her broom] in hand. Your
duty will be to make everything clean and tidy, but take
especial care not to rub the furniture too hard for fear
of wearing it out. Moreover, I appoint you during the

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 341

supper to the management of the bottles, and if one is
lost or anything broken, I shall look to you for it, and
shall take it out of your wages. . . . You, Brindavoine,
and you, La Merluche, are to rinse the glasses and serve
out the wine, but only when any of the company are
thirsty, and not like those rascally lackeys who go and
press people and put it into their heads to drink when
they don't wish to. Wait till you have been asked more
than once, — and always remember to serve plenty of
water.

The most comical character in the play is Maitre
Jacques, a factotum playing the dual role of cook and
coachman in Harpagon's niggardly household. When-
ever he is addressed in a capacity opposed to the cos-
tume he is wearing, he solemnly changes his coachman's
livery for a cook's smock, or vice versa, — a bit of by-
play which invariably keeps an audience in roars of
laughter. When asked by his master for the world's
opinion of him, Maitre Jacques truthfully paints Har-
pagon's character, even though his candour costs him a
thrashing :

Sir, since you will have it, I tell you frankly that
you are laughed at everywhere ; that you are the object
of hundreds of gibes ; for people are never so happy as
when putting you on the rack and telling tales of your
stinginess. One neighbour says you have private alma-
nacs printed, in which you double the ember-days and
vigils in order to profit by the extra fasts your house-
hold must observe ; another, that you have a quarrel
always ready to pick with your servants at " boxing "
time, or when they are leaving, so that you may have a
pretext for giving them nothing. One man says that
you once swore out a warrant against a neighbour's cat
for having eaten the scraps of a leg of mutton ; and still
another that you were caught one night stealing your

342 MOLIERE

own horses' oats, and that your coachman — my prede-
cessor— gave you I don't know how many blows, in
the dark, with a bludgeon, about which you never ven-
tured to say anything. In short, — shall I tell you? —
I can go nowhere without hearing you hauled over the
coals. You are the laughing-stock of the whole neigh-
bourhood, and you are never spoken of except as a
miser, an extortioner, and a niggardly skinflint.

Fearful that robbers may enter his house, Harpagon
buries in his garden a casket containing ten thousand
livres, and when his son's valet discovers its hiding-
place, the prodigal purloins this treasure as a means for
bringing his father to terms. But the charm of this
play does not lie in its somewhat stilted plot. Harpa-
gon is the personification of greed, painted by a master
hand. Take, for instance, these lines spoken when he
discovers the loss of his buried treasure, — a speech
fairly Balzacian in its sordid frenzy :

Stop thief! stop thief! Hold the assassin ! stop the
murderer ! Justice, great Heaven ! I am undone, assas-
sinated ! They have cut my throat ! They 've stolen
my money ! Who can have done it? What has become
of him? Where is he? — where is he hiding? What
can I do to find him ? Where shall I run ? where shall
I not run? Is he here? Is he there? Who 's that?
Stop ! [He clutches himself by the arm.] Give back
my money, you scoundrel! — It is myself! my mind *s
distraught — I know not where I am, nor what I do.
Alas ! my poor money ! my poor money ! my dear
friend ! thou hast been taken from me ; and since thou
art gone, I have lost my sole support, my consolation,
my joy ; all is ended, I have nothing left to keep me in
this world. Without thee, it is impossible to live. All
is over ; I have no more strength ; I am dying ; I am
dead ; I am buried. Will no one raise me from the dead

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 343

by giving me back my beloved money, or by telling me
who has taken it? Eh! what's that you say? Nobody
spoke. There 's no one here ! The one who robbed
me must have carefully spied out the hour, and chosen
the very time when I was talking to my rascally son.
Come — I will seek justice. I '11 have my whole house
put upon the rack — maids, valets, son, daughter — and
myself. I see them all assembled there ! I suspect
them all ; each looks to me like a thief. What are they
talking about down there ? About the thief who robbed
me? What noise is that up there? Is it my thief?
For Heaven's sake, if you have any news of him, tell
me, I pray you ! Is he hidden there amongst you ?
They all stare at me and laugh. You will see that they
had a share in the theft. Quick, policemen, archers,
provosts, judges ! racks, gallows, and hangmen ! I '11
hang the whole lot of them, and if I don't recover my
money, I '11 then hang myself.

Because of its disregard of the dramatic canon that a
play in five acts must be written in verse — a contempt
for the rules Moliere had already evinced in Don Juan
— The Misery when first presented on the stage of the
Palais Royal, September ninth, I668,1 called forth con-
siderable protest from contemporary critics. A modern
censor will feel more inclined, however, to take exception
to the baseness of its picture of a man's degraded love of
wealth and a son's undutifulness than to quibble over
Aristotelian principles ; for commanding as is the realis-
tic strength of this play, one turns with a certain sense of
relief from Harpagon the miser to Monsieur Jourdain
the socially ambitious tradesman, whose desire to pass

1 Grimarest places the first production in January, 1668, while Vol-
taire arbitrarily selects the year 1667 ; but La Grange makes no mention
of The Miser until Sunday, September ninth, 1668, when he announces
its first production as a new piece (jtiece nouvelle de M. de Moliere).

344 MOLIERE

the portals of society inspires the title of The Burgher, a
Gentleman (Le Bourgeois gentilhomme). Here, at least,
is a character meriting one's sympathy, — a character
truer, too, than its predecessor to the life of our day,
for the miser of Moliere's time has become a Wall-Street
magnate, whereas the social climber is found wherever
organised society exists.

A retired shopkeeper, ignorant of the ways of the
world, Monsieur Jourdain resolves to bridge the gulf
separating him from the nobly born. His desire to
receive social recognition is an obsession, yet his endeav-
ours to acquire fine clothes and manners are so compla-
cent and sincere that, laughable though he be, he is,
nevertheless, a genuine human being, made lovable by
his beaming simplicity.

Finding low born manners a bar to the fulfilment of
his ambition, Monsieur Jourdain, much to the disgust of
his worthy wife and outspoken maid-of-all-work, resolves
to educate himself. The first two acts are devoted to his
efforts in this direction as well as to the quarrels of his
various professors of music, dancing, fencing, and phi-
losophy for ascendency over their " milch cow," as Ma-
dame Jourdain calls her lord ; yet the only tangible
progress Monsieur Jourdain makes in the acquirement
of knowledge is to learn that all which is not verse is
prose. Discovering to his great delight that when he
asks for his slippers he is speaking prose, he thus com-
municates this knowledge to his wife :

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN
Do you know what you are talking at this moment ?

MADAME JOURDAIN

I know I am talking good sense, and that you ought to change
your manner of living.

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 345

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN

I don't mean that. I mean, do you know what the words are
that you are saying ?

MADAME JOURDAIN

They are sensible words, and that 's more than I can say of
your conduct.

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN

I don't mean that. I ask you, what I am now saying to you
at the present moment, what is it ?

MADAME JOURDAIN
Stuff and nonsense.

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN
It 's prose, you ignorant woman !

MADAME JOURDAIN
Prose ?

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN

Yes, prose. All that is prose is not verse, and all that is not
verse is prose. There ! That 's what one learns by study.

To further his passion for entering society, Monsieur
Jourdain allows himself to become the dupe of Dorante,
an unscrupulous nobleman whom he lends vast sums of
money, even permitting him the use of his house for the
purpose of carrying on an intrigue with a marchioness
named Dorimene. Assured by this chevalier d* Industrie
that Dorimene views his own attentions with no unfa-
vourable eye, Monsieur Jourdain lavishes presents upon
her, for which Dorante, of course, takes the credit ; and,
having induced his better half to spend an evening out,
the deluded man regales the noble marchioness with a
sumptuous banquet, brought to an untimely end by the

346 MOLIERE

appearance of Madame Jourdain in the role of outraged
wife.

The love plot is merely accessary to Monsieur Jour-
dam's ambitions, but it serves to inspire an incident
whereby that worthy bourgeois's obsession is made the
excuse for the ballet which concludes the play. Cleonte,
an estimable young man, is in love with Monsieur Jour-
dain's daughter Lucile,1 and when he demands her hand,
her father asks him if he is a gentleman. He replies
thus :

Sir, in answering that question most people show
slight hesitation ; the word is easily spoken. Little
scruple is shown in the assumption of that name, and
present custom seems to authorise the theft ; yet, for my
part, I confess my feelings on this point are a little more
delicate. I maintain that all imposture is unworthy of
an honest man, and that it is cowardice to disguise what
Heaven has made, and deck ourselves for the eyes of the
world with a stolen title, or to wish to pass for what one
is not. I am born of parents who doubtless have rilled
honourable posts. I have acquitted myself creditably as
a soldier by six years of service, and I am sufficiently
well-to-do to maintain a middling rank in society ; yet
notwithstanding all this, I shall not assume a name
which others in my place might think they had a right
to bear ; therefore I shall tell you frankly that I am not
a gentleman.

Many a modern young man might emulate this modesty
with credit to himself; many a designing mother, too,
might well study the homely philosophy which Madame
Jourdain propounds in support of Cleonte's suit :

1 The reader will recall the scene between Cleonte and his valet
Covielle, quoted on page 151, in which Cleonte, picturing the charms of
his lady-love, in reality draws a portrait of Armande Bejart, who played
the role of Lucile.

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 347

Alliances with people above one's station are subject
to grievous drawbacks. I wish no son-in-law of mine to
be able to reproach my daughter with her parents, or to
have children ashamed to call me grandmother.

Deaf, however, to this sound reasoning, Monsieur
Jourdain refuses Cleonte on the ground that he is not
a gentleman, whereupon Covielle, the discarded lover's
valet, concocts a scheme to further his master's cause.
Disguised as an emissary of the son of the Grand Turk,
as the Sultan was then called, Covielle tells Monsieur
Jourdain that his imperial highness has conceived an
attachment for his daughter, Lucile, and that in order
to raise him to a rank befitting such an alliance, he has
resolved upon making him a Mamamouchi. Cleonte
appearing disguised as a Turk and accompanied by a
band of mummers, Monsieur Jourdain is duly invested
with the imaginary dignity of Mamamouchi and a cos-
tume befitting his rank. When let into the secret of her
husband's crowning folly, Madame Jourdain consents to
the union of her daughter with the Sultan's fictitious
heir, while Dorante, who has used his middle class dupe
for the purpose of winning Dorimene, is rewarded by
that lady's hand.

The first three acts of this delightful play are in the
spirit of pure comedy, but the other two fall to the level
of farce, — a descent, however, for which Moliere is
blameless. The advent in Paris of a Turkish ambas-
sador had created such a sensation at court that upon
his departure the King commanded Moliere to write a
comedy1 introducing a Turkish ballet, for which Lully was

1 According to Bruzen de la Martiniere, Colbert suggested to the King
the subject of a Turkish farce for the purpose of ridiculing the disdainful
Turkish envoy.

348 MOLIERE

ordered to compose the music, and a certain Chevalier
d'Arvieux, who had spent some time in the Orient, to
provide local colour.

When played before Louis at Chambord in October,
1670, 'The Burgher, a Gentleman was, according to Gri-
marest, " a failure " ; for " the King said nothing about
it at supper, and the courtiers tore it to pieces," with the
result that " the mortified author took to his room for a
period of five days." When the play was regiven, the
King broke his discouraging silence by telling Moliere
that " he had never written a more amusing play," yet, as
the comedy was repeated at court within two, instead of
five, days after its first representation, Grimarest's anec-
dote must be accepted with considerable caution, the more
so because, according to the official gazette, the new
piece was played four times within eight days.

There are reasons, however, for crediting the dis-
pleasure of the courtiers. Moliere's villain, Dorante, a
well-born sharper, who uses his social position as a means
for relieving a shopkeeping lover of station of his money,
is of their caste, while the pretensions of people of quality
are made the object of an irony so delicious that The
Burgher, a Gentleman stands pre-eminent among Moli-
ere's satirical plays. Indeed, despite its farcical denoue-
ment, it is a comedy of manners so true to humanity that
Monsieur Jourdain has become the universally accepted
portrait of the parvenu.

Social ambition being a folly, not a vice, this simple
shopkeeper, befuddled with love for rank, whose inborn
impulse it is to rub his hands obsequiously and scrape to
persons of quality, represents a type quite different from
George Dandin, the slowly thinking peasant. " Is not
this bourgeois infatuated with nobility the most arrant

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 349

fool, the most perfect booby we know ? " asks M. Paul
Mesnard ; yet Monsieur Jourdain's infatuation is, after
all, a weakness most of us have experienced to a more or
less degree, — the very weakness, indeed, upon which all
aristocracies are based.

In spite of the fact that certain scenes have been traced
to Aristophanes, Cervantes, Rotrou, and others, Vhe
Burgher, a Gentleman remains one of Moliere's truest ant
most original creations.

A one-act corollary of this play is La Comtesse tfEscar-
bagnas. Here the social climber appears as a foolish
provincial lady, who, after two months spent in Paris,
apes the manners of the court and the intellectual lan-
guishments of the precieuses. In love with a viscount,
who, like Dorante, makes use of her credulity to further
his suit for another's hand, the countess flirts meantime
with a provincial counsellor and a tax-gatherer, because,
as she wisely says, " it is unwise to leave one lover
master of the field, lest his love go to sleep through too
much confidence and the lack of rivalry." Her provin-
cial admirers are " humoured, in case she might wish to
make use of them," — a wise proceeding, since, losing
the tax-gatherer through her absurd pretensions, the
Comtesse d'Escarbagnas takes the advice of the viscount
whose tool she has been, and marries the counsellor, "to
spite the whole world." This little comedy, so slight in
construction, was intended merely to serve as an intro-
duction for a court ballet given at St. Germain on
December second, 1671, yet it is a charming conceit, —
a sheet from Moliere's note-book of country manners
made when he sojourned at the Prince de Conti's court ;
a simple pencil sketch, as it were, of provincial follies
drawn so deftly that, though farcical in form and slender

350 MOLIERE

in outline, it is a picture of actual life, and therefore
comedy.

Being the manager of a popular theatre, Moliere was
tempted during the later years of his life to dress old
scenes and characters in new clothes. Forced to fill his
theatre, like Shakespeare, he studied the necessities of
the stage, — an exigency which makes ^The Rascalities of
Scapin (Les Fourberies de Scapin}, his next piece, thor-
oughly praiseworthy from a stage point of view ; yet in
reverting to Italian imbroglio, the false art of his youth,
Moliere here sacrificed upon the altar of his public both
characterisation and atmosphere, the very elements which
make his plays so peerless.

In Scapin, the character whose knavery gives this farce
its title, we have the rogue of Italian mummery, proud
of his lies and trickery, — in short, the Mascarille of
Moliere's youth. Indeed, the rascalities Scapin employs
on behalf of two young Neapolitan gentlemen are strongly
reminiscent of those invented by the valet of Lelie the
blunderer to aid his master. In this instance there are
two young men, each opposed by an irate father in his
endeavours to wed a young woman who, unknown to
either, happens to be the very person most expedient for
him to marry. One of these, Octave by name, having
wedded his inamorata during his father's absence, becomes
so terrified at the prospect of parental ire that he has
recourse to Scapin, the valet of his friend Leandre, a
resourceful rascal " endowed by Heaven with a fine genius
for all those happy expedients of wit, those gallantries to
which the vulgar give the name of knavery."

" I may say without vanity," declares this new Mas-
carille, " that no man has ever been more clever than I in
managing all the springs of intrigue." Needing money to

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 351

compass his knavery, this rascal resolves to filch from the
parents of his young employers. Accordingly, he tells
Geronte, father of Leandre, that his son, enticed aboard
the galley of a young Turk to dine and wine, has been
carried out to sea and held for a ransom, which he, Scapin,
has been charged to collect. Astonished by this prepos-
terous demand, Geronte repeats, at intervals, during
Scapin's recital of his son's predicament, the words,
" What the devil did he intend to do in that galley ? "
(Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galore ?) — a phrase in
whole or in part more widely quoted, perhaps, than any
in the French language. Indeed, Geronte's bewilderment
is so intense that throughout Scapin's arguments he
constantly reiterates this question, until the rogue has
obtained the needed money.

This famous scene occurs almost in its entirety in The
Tricked Pedant (Le Pedant joue) of Cyrano de Bergerac,
and although M. Louis Moland1 cites an Italian scenario
which may have inspired both playwriters, the phrase
qu allait-il faire dans cette gal ere, occurring in the earlier
play, is circumstantial evidence, at least, that Moliere
helped himself to Cyrano's product, — an act he justifies
by the assertion of his right " to take possession of his
property wherever found." 2

In this instance he possesses himself of the "property"
of Terence as well as that of Cyrano de Bergerac ;
while in placing a character in a gunny sack to be beaten

1 Moliere et la come die italienne, 1 867.

2 // m*est per mis de reprendre man bien ou je le trouve, are words
ascribed to Moliere by Grimarest ; and this phraseology has led certain
commentators to suggest the possibility of a youthful collaboration which
inspired Moliere to refurbish a scene he had once contributed to Cyrano's
play.

352 MOLIERE

soundly by Scapin under the pretence of defending him
from a horde of imaginary bravos, he cements, as Boileau
has suggested, an unholy alliance between Tabarin1 and
the classic drama.

Although The Rascalities of Scapin is distinctly a play
of action, it is, despite deft touches from Moliere's
brush, little more than an Italian imbroglio, — in other
words, a farce of " three or four surprises, two or three
disguises, combats and tumults."

First presented on the stage of the Palais Royal, May
twenty-fourth, 1671, it still holds a place in the repertory
of the Comedie Franchise, — an honour due to histri-
onic rather than literary value ; for in spite of its " side-
splitting " qualities one is tempted to agree with Boileau
and pronounce it unworthy of the great creator of char-
acter comedy.

Indeed, as if aware that Scapin's rascalities were un-
becoming his genius, Moliere returned to his own in
The Learned Women (Les Femmes savantes), a five-act
comedy in verse, produced at the Palais Royal, March
eleventh, 1672. In this, the last of his plays save 'The
Imaginary Invalid, Moliere almost reaches his highest
level ; for only in its lack of a commanding character,
such as Alceste or Tartuffe, and in a corresponding in-
tensity of purpose, is this play inferior to his two great
masterpieces. Its verse is more polished, its comedy
purer, perhaps, than any he ever wrote. Only in vigour
does it fail to rival his greatest work ; for as a satire upon

1 Tabarin was a famous mountebank of the Pont Neuf, and is sup-
posed to have originated this scene. It was a more or less common farce
situation, however, in Moliere's day, and probably formed the subject of
a canevas entitled Gor gibus dans le sac played by Moliere's strolling com-
pany and presumably composed by its manager.

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 353

society from the pen of a moralist who felt " he could
do nothing better than attack the follies of his time with
ridiculous likenesses," 'The Learned Women stands but a /
step below the The Misanthrope and The Hypocrite.

In writing this comedy Moliere once more employed
material he had used in former plays ; for his blue stock-
ings — so ridiculous in their craving for knowledge —
suggest Cathos and Magdelon, the pr'ecieuses of his first
great comedy ; while Trissotin, a literary Pecksniff, and
Vadius, his pedantic friend, are reminiscent of the poets
Lysidas and Du Croisy of The Criticism of The School
for Waives and of The Versailles Impromptu, respectively.

The Learned Women, however, is written in a key so
different that it cannot be called a replica. It satirises
the assumptions of fashionable wits and the mawkish
sentimentality of culture seeking women; yet there is no
vivacious Mascarille to deck himself in borrowed plu-
mage, no purely farcical situation. Indeed, Moliere's
desire is manifestly to preach a sermon upon the text
that woman was created to play a domestic role in life.
His play is written with such fidelity to nature that,
shorn of their seventeenth century garments, his strong
minded blue stockings might readily pass for " new
women " ; yet in outlining their characters he has
followed the changing fashions of his own time. The
precieuse was rapidly becoming an encyclopediste, the cult
of verbiage giving place to a boudoir sciolism, — a better-
ment, perhaps, in intention ; yet in this feminine pursuit
of knowledge the domestic virtues were Stirling. Against
this dangerous tendency Moliere preached his last ser-
mon, choosing, to illustrate his text, an upper middle
class family whose feminine members are beset with a
craving for culture. Chrysale, a bon bourgeois, as Moliere

354 MOLIERE

calls him, is the henpecked husband of an imperious
wife named Philaminte, the despotic ruler of a femi-
nine realm whose lawgiver is Vaugelas the grammarian.
Queen Philaminte's subjects are Armande, her feline
daughter, and her sister-in-law, an absurd spinster named
Belise, who imagines herself beloved of all men. Tris-
sotin, a fashionable poet, is prime minister of this domain
of culture. Its peace is marred, however, by sensible
Henriette, the youngest daughter of Philaminte. This
worthy representative of true womanhood is loved by
Clitandre, a commendable young man of fashion, whose
affections are claimed by Armande as well as by her
spinster aunt Belise. This much loved hero is supported
in his suit for Henriette's hand by her father, until that
gentleman has the temerity to broach the matter to his
wife.

Bent upon marrying Henriette to Trissotin the poet,
Philaminte routs her husband so completely that he
capitulates unconditionally; yet, fortunately for the course
of true love, this browbeaten paterfamilias has a brother
named Ariste, a counterpart of his sensible namesake
in The School for Husbands, of Cleante in The Hypocrite,
and of Philinte in The Misanthrope. Knowing that Tris-
sotin's sole desire is to wed his niece's fortune, Ariste
plays him a pious trick. The rhymester is told that
Chrysale has been ruined financially and his daughter
consequently made penniless, whereupon he withdraws
his suit and hastily takes to flight, leaving the field to
Clitandre.

The real charm of this play, however, lies in its mas-1
terful characterisation, since the plot is merely a frame '
for a faithfully outlined sketch of seventeenth century
manners. Indeed, Moliere pursues the follies of strong

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 355

mindedness through scene after scene with an irony so
ruthless that it is difficult to believe that domineering
Philaminte, cat-like Armande, and fatuous Belise, each
so obsessed with a mania for culture, are not apostles
of Browning, Ibsen, or Maeterlinck. Chrysale, too, the
meek, long-suffering husband, is a perennial type, and
Martine, the maid-of-all-work, discharged by Philaminte
because she murders the language of Vaugelas, has many
a modern Irish counterpart, ready to take corresponding
liberties with the King's English.

The most caustic satire of this play is found in the
scene where Trissotin, the fortune-hunting poet, declaims
a precious sonnet of his own to the three learned women.
Called Tricotin in the original draft of the play, this
Trissotin, whose name has been interpreted as the
equivalent of trois fois sot (three times stupid), is an
unmistakable portrait to the life of the Abbe Cotin, an
Academician of the day, whose success with rondeaux,
madrigals, and enigmas had led him to arrogate unto
himself the title of " Father of French epigram." In
order that his shaft might not be aimed amiss, Moliere
inserted some of Cotin's own verses in this scene, — a
piece of malice difficult to countenance. Moreover,
Trissotin's pedantic friend Vadius is presumably a por-
trait of Menage, a famous pedant of the ruelles.

For a time this bel esprit and savant extol each other's
productions to the rapturous sighs of their dupes and
the manifest disgust of rational Henriette ; then Vadius,
unaware that the poem Trissotin vaunts is composed by
him, attacks it unmercifully, meantime demanding at-
tention for a ballad of his own. This is Trissotin's cue
to abuse balladry, whereupon the two sciolists exhaust
their respective vocabularies in violent recrimination,

356 MOLIERE

until Vadius leaves angrily, with the avowed threat of
annihilating Trissotin with his pen.
/ This scene gave preciosity its coup de grace. The
Trissotins have long been dead and buried. Moliere,
however, lives, a worthy champion ot simplicity and,
truth. Each of his characters depicts some fundamental
human quality; each is a perennial type. In giving the
scenes he borrowed a clearer atmosphere and by painting
the characters he copied from others with simple yet
forcible colours, he rose invariably superior to his models.
Plautus and Terence imitated the Greeks ; but these
Latin poets depicted only a part of the manners of Rome.
Moliere painted not only the vices and follies common
to all ages and all countries, but the characteristics of his
own people so truthfully that his comedies are a history
of the manners, fashions, and tastes of his century.

Many attempts have been made to liken him to
Shakespeare; yet such comparisons, if not odious, are
at best idle. Shakespeare wrote tragedy and romantic
comedy ; Moliere, naturalistic comedy and farce. Liv-
ing in an age when his countrymen sought adventures
on many seas and brought to the shores of their native
isle tales of wild exploits, Shakespeare found his subjects
in the heroic history of England and Rome, in a fanciful
Italy, or an imaginary Greece and Bohemia; whereas
Moliere, living in a polished and prescribed age occupied
with its own achievements, painted the people of that
age, not merely as a dramatic artist engaged in providing
the stage with marketable plays, but as a highly minded
philosopher who felt it his duty to expose the vices of
society. The one was -an idealist, writing, unhampered,
in an age of adventure ; the other, a realist fettered by
three dramatic unities. " Moliere was a caged eagle,"

THE HISTRIONIC PLAYS 357

M. Henri Merou of the French consular service once
said to the present writer ; " had he been free, there are
no heights to which his genius might not have flown."
Instead of soaring as his fancy willed, the great French-
man was condemned to beat his wings against his Aris-
totelian bars. Two men so diametrically different in
temperament and opportunity as Shakespeare and Mo-
liere are not to be compared or classed as rivals.
Each reflects the spirit of an age and the traditions of a
race; each, in his way, is an incomparable genius, to
whom all the subsequent dramatists of the world have
been indebted for inspiration and light.

3f8 MOLIERE

XVIII
DEATH

THAT propensity toward affection with which the author
of T'he Famous Comedienne says Moliere was born, is made
so apparent in his writings that it is idle to believe the
years he spent in retirement at Auteuil were other than
years of anguish. According to his wife's libeller, he
enjoyed his greatest pleasure at his country house,
" where he had placed his daughter " ; and there he
doubtless amused himself in educating the child as he
had the mother, though profiting, let it be hoped, by
experience.

Madeleine-Esprit was a child of two at the time
Moliere sought asylum in the suburbs, and surely the
role of Louison in The Imaginary Invalid was inspired
by her; for this child's part is written with a tender-
ness and fidelity inconceivable had not children plucked
the poet's gown " to share the good man's smile."
Moreover his sonnet to La Mothe le Vayer betrays a
knowledge of paternal love too profound to have been
imagined. Finally, in the verses of Psyche written by
Moliere, he exclaims that the harsh fatalities which
remove for ever persons dear to us bear "cruelties to
crush out hearts," beside which " envy's poison and
the shafts of hatred " are minor trials to one " whose
sovereign is reason."

DEATH

359

At the time these last lines were penned Moliere had
lived apart from Armande Bejart about four years, and
if reason was his sovereign he proved a most unheedful
subject; for while he was thus proclaiming her sover-
eignty he was apparently seeking a reconciliation with
his capricious wife. Psyche was played during the car-
nival of 1671, and Armande Bejart fell ill at this time,
— a circumstance which may have inspired a spirit of
forgiveness in her husband's heart.

As their third child l was born in September of the
following year, Moliere's reunion with his wife surely
occurred no later than the end of 1671. Grimarest,
however, places this event ten months before the first pro-
duction of The Imaginary Invalid, — an assertion which
would make the time of its occurrence some time in April,
1672. He is manifestly in error, for in addition to the
tangible proof presented by the birth of Moliere's last
child, the circumstantial evidence may be cited of Boi-
leau's assertion that the poet left him to correct alone
some verses in the first act of The Learned Women while
he (Moliere) " went out a moment with his wife." 2 As
this play was produced in March, 1672, there was ap-
parently little need at that time for the intervention of
those friends who, according to Grimarest, endeavoured
to adjust the relations of this ill assorted couple, or rather
" to make them live together more agreeably." Since
Boileau and Mignard's little daughter stood sponsors
for the child born after the reunion, the critic and the
painter were apparently those most instrumental in bring-
ing that desirable event to pass. One account, however,

1 Pierre-Jean-Baptiste-Armand, who survived his birth but a few
weeks.

2 MSS. de Brossette.

360 MOLIERE

makes the Marquis de Jonsac the peacemaker, and the
reconciliation a matter of theatrical policy purely, since it
appears that —

Moliere, with the intention of offering his wife the
role of Angelique in The Imaginary Invalid, and know-
ing how much the sweetness of her voice would add to
the expression of its natural sentiments, had conceived
this part in a way sufficiently pleasing to make the actress
to whom it was given applauded from beginning to end.
Jonsac made Mme. Moliere appreciate the value of such
consideration on the part of an ill treated husband.
Possibly this motive touched her slightly, but the hope
of pleasing the public in a part written for her made
her decide. The reconciliation took place the same
evening.1

This story makes the restoration of domestic harmony
occur upon the completion of The Imaginary Invalid, —
a case impossible unless there had been another rupture
after the birth of the last Moliere child. The only indi-
cation that such a breach took place is to be found in the
story told by the author of The Famous Comedienne regard-
ing a love affair between Armande Bejart and Baron, the
young actor who left Moliere's company in 1666 because
that very lady boxed his ears.

Baron had been touring the provinces with a travel-
ling company, but shortly after the Easter closing of
the Palais Royal in 1670, having been urged by Moliere

1 Extrait des MJmoires de Mme. Guerin veuve de Moliere, published
by the Abbe d'Allainval in 1822 (Collection des memoir es dramatiques).
These memoirs are, in the main, a compilation from The Famous
Comedienne, and this anecdote is avowedly taken from that work ; but
according to M. Paul Mesnard there is no edition of The Famous
Comedienne in which it occurs.

DEATH 361

to rejoin his forces, he became a member of the " King's
Troupe, entitled to a full share of the receipts," l while
Mile. Beauval of the provincial organisation with which
this young actor had travelled, and, according to Robinet,
" an actress of royal discrimination/' was received in the
company, together with her husband.

The interesting feature of the second advent of Mo-
Here's protege as a member of the Palais Royal forces
lies, however, in his friendship with the poet. The
following account by Grimarest of their relations may
be taken as coming from the young comedian's own
lips:

The absence of Baron had caused Moliere much
suffering ; for the education of this young man amused
him in his moments of leisure. His family trials in-
creased daily ; he could not always work or seek distrac-
tion among his friends ; moreover, he disliked numbers
and constraint, and had nothing to amuse him or deaden
his suffering. Having succeeded in acquiring a reputa-
tion as a man of good intellect, his saddest thought was
that he was so open to reproach because his household
was not more peaceful and better conducted ; therefore
he viewed Baron's return in the light of a domestic di-
version which made it possible for him to lead more
satisfactorily a tranquil life in conformity with his health
and principles, and free from extraneous family pomp
or even from those friends whose inopportune presence
so often robs life of its most agreeable moments.

Baron, apparently no less desirous than Moliere of
renewing their former relations, returned to Paris imme-
diately upon the receipt of his benefactor's invitation, and
on the day of his arrival the poet went to the Porte St.
Victor to meet him ; but " country air and travelling had

1 Registre de la Grange.

362 MOLIERE

so jaded and disfigured " the young actor that Moliere
let him pass in the throng without recognition, though
upon returning home, much disappointed, was rejoiced
to find him already there. After recounting how Baron,
having left his purse "at the last inn at which he slept,"
was too anxious to see Moliere to return in quest of it,
and how delighted the poet was to find his protege so
"grateful and so touched," Grimarest goes on to say
that " Moliere resumed the same care he had taken of
him from the beginning, and one can imagine with what
solicitude he set to work to train him in manners as well
as in his profession."

Baron lived with Moliere at Auteuil, retaining his
benefactor's friendship until the latter's death. The
story the author of The Famous Comedienne tells of the
young actor's intrigue with Moliere's wife places him in
a light almost too ignoble; for, as M. Mesnard exclaims,
" on the word of a cowardly pamphleteer, shall he be
considered capable of such abominable ingratitude ? "

The base conduct imputed to Baron was supposedly
brought about by his appearance with Armande Bejart in
Pysche during the carnival of 1671, when she played the
title role and he Cupid. According to the oft quoted
scandal monger :

The joint praises they received forced them to examine
each other with more attention and even with some de-
gree of pleasure. He was the first to break the silence
by paying her a compliment regarding the good fortune
that had befallen him in being chosen to represent her
lover, observing meantime that he owed the approval
of the public to this lucky chance, and that it was not
difficult to play the part of a person whose feelings one
could so well understand. La Moliere replied that the
1 Notice biograpbiquf sur Moliere.

DEATH 363

praises bestowed on a man like himself were the reward
of merit, and that she had no share in them ; but that
gallantry on the part of one who was reputed to have
had so many successes in love did not surprise her, for
he must be as accomplished an actor outside the theatre
as upon the stage. Baron, to whom such reproaches
were not displeasing, told her that he had indeed some
acquaintances that one might call bonnes for tunes y but that
he was prepared to sacrifice all for her, since he would
set more value on the smallest of her favours than on
any which the ladies who had smiled upon him were able
to bestow ; whereupon he mentioned their names, with a
discretion which was natural to him.

To abbreviate an unpleasant story, Armande was so
pleased with this debonair love-making that she consented
to a continuation of their respective roles off the stage,
but Baron proved so faithless an admirer that the intrigue
was of short duration. Since the hero of this unsavoury
romance is reputed to have pictured himself in the title
role of his comedy, L'Homme a bonnes fortunes, the name
of which is untranslatable, unless it be called ^he Lady
Killer^ and as La Bruyere paints him under the name of
Roscius as a conceited jackanapes, he was perhaps ca-
pable of this " abominable ingratitude " toward his ben-
efactor; yet that such an amour could have been
carried on under Moliere's jealous eyes while Baron
remained his friend is scarcely conceivable ; hence the
story of the intrigue, together with an even baser
insinuation regarding the young man's relations with
the poet, may be dismissed as the unproved slander of
a coward.

Moliere's questionable wife may be left for the mo-
ment to her capricious ways, while the centre of the
family stage is taken by her more sympathetic sister

364 MOLIERE

Madeleine. In The Versailles Impromptu the elder Be-
jart is clearly drawn by the poet himself. "You will
represent," he tells her, "one of those women who,
because they do not make love, believe that everything
else is permitted them " ; and throughout his skit Mad-
eleine's positive and intelligent character is distinctly
drawn. Rallying Moliere with the frankness their long
intimacy warrants, she advises him upon the construc-
tion of his play and encourages him boldly to meet the
attacks of his enemies, filling, in short, the role she
played throughout his life; for, to quote M. Gustave
Larroumet, " Madeleine, entire, is in The Versailles 1m-
promptu, — her frank way of speaking, the soundness of
her practical mind, her bantering good humour, and the
enlightened affection she bore Moliere."

Since the romantic storm of their early days an
equable friendship had arisen between Madeleine and the
poet, wherein she appears in the light of a protector,
comrade, and adviser. Among the theatrical jealousies
and bickerings of the thirty years of their intimacy, not
a single discordant note in character is recorded, save
her wise opposition to Moliere's marriage. Originally
the star of the organisation, she accepted principal roles
or minor parts with equanimity, now playing Dorine in
The Hypocrite, now a gypsy or a jaded nymph, finally
retiring without a protest or a murmur from the stage
she had graced so long.

After the production of Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, in
1669, she played her accustomed parts no more ; and in
the January following she lost her aged mother, Marie
Herve, upon whose grave in the parish cemetery of St.
Paul she erected a tomb " with the desire," as the epi-
1 La Comedie de Moliere.

DEATH 365

taph stated, "of showing, even after death, a few marks
of the gratitude she felt for her friendship and the care
she had always taken of her/' Upon the second anni-
versary of Marie Herve's death Madeleine drew her will,
calling to her bedside for the purpose her attorneys,
who pronounced her " ill of body, but sound in mind,
memory, and judgment." " Commending her soul to
her Creator," she ordered that her body be interred in
the church of St. Paul " in the place where her family
had the right of burial." Founding in perpetuity for
the repose of her soul two weekly requiem masses, she
endowed five paupers, to be chosen by her sisters, each
with a daily income of five sous in honour of the five
wounds of our Saviour ; then, bequeathing to her brother
Louis and her two sisters, Genevieve and Armande, an
income of four hundred livres each, she constituted the
latter a residuary legatee in trust of the remainder of
her estate for the benefit of Moliere's daughter and his
"children yet to be born." A month later (February
fourteenth, 1672), she drew a codicil to this will for
the purpose of giving Armande more freedom in the
care of the residuary estate, and, still sound of mind,
she ordered it read aloud; whereupon she dictated a
few slight corrections, though at that time barely able
to trace her signature, since "sight and strength had
failed her."

Three days later the end came. Madeleine died with
a fortitude so marked that Robinet in his rhymed gazette
exclaimed that she "acted well the part each mortal plays
before the Fates, being a good Christian as well as a good
actress." Her death was tragic, too, for not a single
member of her family graced her bedside, — through no
fault of theirs, however, since the Palais Royal players

366 MOLIERE

had been commanded to Versailles. Moliere's name
figures in the burial act ; therefore he paid his last respects
to the woman who might have made him an ideal help-
mate had his eyes not been blinded by her wayward
sister's charms.

During the long tramp from the church of St. Germain
1'Auxerrois, where the funeral service was held, to the
cemetery of St. Paul, he had ample time to look back-
ward through the years to the hours when he trudged
behind an ox cart while the friend whose mortal part he
followed lightened the journey with her hopeful smile.
The victim of a fatal disease, he knew he must soon be
borne to his own last resting-place. Domestic trials
weighed heavily upon him, glowing youth no longer
spurred him on to mount "ambition's ladder," the
King's favour was waning ; the Academy, too, had
scorned him, for no actor who blackened his face daily,
no impious author such as he, might sit among the
Immortals.1

Beset by enemies, his health irrevocably lost, he
awaited death with a heart overborne by grief. Of the
rash company who had signed the contract of " The
Illustrious Theatre" with him on June thirtieth, 1643,
Madeleine was the last, save her sister Genevieve. Of
the little band of strollers who had followed him through
France, Joseph Bejart, Gros Rene, and the beautiful Du
Pare were dead, while Louis Bejart had retired with a
pension ; so the De Bries and Genevieve Bejart alone
remained members of his company. His parents were

1 A hundred years after his death, his bust was placed in the room
where the Academicians met, with an inscription reading : " Nothing
was lacking in his glory, he was lacking in ours."

DEATH 367

dead ; his sister Marie- Madeleine and his brothers had
played no real part in his life. Overcome by the cares
of his triple profession, he made it " a point of honour
not to give up," yet " the thirst of praise " was quenched,
the fever of battle no longer burned in his veins. In
the words of M. Larroumet, "He buried his youth and
his happiness that day. Death had marked him for his
own, and walked by his side. In a year to a day, his
hour would come."

The dead woman had discovered his genius. Her
will proves the affection she bore him. The inventory
of her effects shows her frugal character. She lived in
a two-room apartment on the fourth floor of a house at
the corner of the rue St. Thomas du Louvre and the rue
St. Honore, — "a family phalanstery," since her mother,
her sisters, her brothers, and Moliere himself dwelt there
at various times. Her furniture was simple, her ward-
robe contained only necessary wearing apparel ; and al-
though her estate was considerable, she left little plate
and fewer jewels ; only in her theatrical costuming is
extravagance perceptible, for here the instincts of an
artist appear. Moreover, she left no debts. She paid
an early tribute to the frailty of her sex, but her life
thereafter proves her to have been a woman of exceptional
talent and merit. The wiles of a young sister beguiled
away the man she served so faithfully, yet she alone
inspired and developed his genius. She lived to see the
reconciliation between Moliere and his wife, — it is to be
hoped she played a generous part in bringing it to pass.

Born just seven months after Madeleine Bejart's death,
Moliere's third child died within a few days ; but in

1 La Com'edie de Moliere.

368 MOLIERE

Pierre-Jean-Baptiste-Armand, the name with which he
was christened, there is evidence that during the last year
of his life the poet dwelt in comparative amity with his
wife. Grimarest tells us that to make " the union more
perfect," Moliere gave up the use of milk and returned to
meat, — "a change in diet which redoubled his cough and
the inflammation of his lungs " ; certainly a striking evi-
dence of his desire to make full amends for the bitterness
of the past. Furthermore, he left his Auteuil retreat and
went to live in the rue Richelieu, in a style to suit his
wife's extravagant and worldly tastes.1 There this ill
mated couple dwelt in a sumptuous apartment of fourteen
rooms adorned with rare tapestries and objects of art.
The inventory of Moliere's effects published by M.
Eudore Soulie2 shows the costly nature of the furnishings,
— the paintings and Oriental rugs, the clocks made by
Raillard and Gavelle, the plate and jewels ; while a bat-
terie de cuisine, complete in every detail, indicates that
although the poet had been converted to the principles of
Descartes, his tastes remained true to the epicureanism
of his youth. Like most artists, he loved luxury, and
as a collector of objets de vertu, betrayed the taste one
would expect of a man whose friends were the great poets
and painters of his day. To quote Grimarest once more,
" in gratifying himself he spared no expense " ; and
although his income has been estimated at thirty thou-
sand livres, the estate he left at his death barely exceeded
one year's revenue, — a further proof that he should

1 La Ma/son mortuaire df Moliere by Auguste Vitu is a volume
devoted entirely to the facts relating to the site of Moliere's last residence
and the details regarding it.

2 Recbercbes sur Moliere.

DEATH 369

have married frugal Madeleine Bejart instead of her
extravagant sister.1

In youth an epicurean, in maturity a stoic, Moliere's
philosophy was the result of experience. Having ac-
cepted readily the love, pleasure, and glory life had given,
he made resignation a shelter for his cares, and in the
companionship of men of kindred tastes sought a solace
to mellow the bitterness of his heart. Chapelle, a scoffer,
and La Mothe le Vayer, a sceptic, were among his friends ;
yet deep within him was a veneration for established in-
stitutions, a reverence for the church no philosophy could
stifle. His reconciliation with his wife was a tribute to
the conventions ; middle class antecedents prevented him
from ever becoming a true sceptic, for although his con-
victions were those of a man of the world living in an
atmosphere of doubt, faith was inherent. Gentle to
women and manly to men, he was a gentleman in the
broad sense ; for there is no evidence to indicate that he
was either mean, a coward, or dishonest, and much to prove
he was both affectionate and brave. As an epicurean he
took what the Fates laid at his door until the offering
was a cup of sorrow; as a stoic he drank the bitter
draught; but in his last hour he vainly sought a priest,

1 M. Eudore Soulie (Recbercbes sur Moliere) makes the following
calculation of Moliere's estate from the inventory taken after the poet's
death :

Personal effects, furniture, clothes, plate, etc. . 1 8,000 livres
Due to the succession, including the 10,000
livres reclaimed by the widow from the
Poquelin estate 25,000 ««

Total 43,000 "

Less debts amounting to about . . . 3,000 "

370 MOLlfiRE

dying, as he had lived, a Christian at heart, a martyr to
intolerance.

The end came suddenly, yet nature had given ample
warning. La Grange records that on account of M oliere's
health the theatre was closed from the ninth to the
twelfth of August, 1672. His illness had become an
atrophy, and his friends tried in vain to induce him to
retire from the stage. " I make it a point of honour not
to give up," he told Boileau a little before his death, and
rather than listen to good counsel he hurled defiance at
disease. His enemies had satirised him as a hypochon-
driac ; so he, the victim of an incurable malady, placed
upon his stage an imaginary invalid, — "burdensome to
all around," — and with sardonic humour referred to
that " impertinent fellow Moliere " as a man who " will
prove far wiser than your doctors, for he will never de-
mand their help." " If I were a physician," says the
hypochondriac of his play, " I would be revenged for
Moliere's impudence by letting him die without succour,"
— an eerie prophecy, since scarcely were these words
uttered upon the stage than the doctors were avenged.

Barred from the St. Germain fetes by the intrigues of
Lully, 'The Imaginary Invalid was produced at the Palais
Royal on the tenth of February, 1673, while the troupe
of the Hotel de Bourgogne was playing Racine's Mith-
ridates before the ungrateful King. During the fourth
performance of Moliere's play (February seventeenth)
its author was seized with a convulsion and died almost
within the hour. The story of his tragic end has been told
by Grimarest with a terseness and pathos hard to excel.1

1 Baron, from whom this much challenged biographer learned his facts,
was with Moliere at the time of his death ; therefore Grimarest' s account
of this event may be accepted with considerable reliance.

DEATH 371

It appears that on the day he died 1 the inflammation
in his lungs annoyed him more than usual ; so, sending
for his wife, he told her in Baron's presence : " So long as
pain and pleasure have been equally present in my life, I
had thought myself happy ; but now," he protested, " I
am overwhelmed with troubles and have not a moment
either of enjoyment or rest. I see plainly that I must
give up the struggle. I cannot hold out against the
pains and worries which leave me without an instant's
peace " ; then, pondering a moment, he added, " How
much a man suffers before he dies ! "

His wife and Baron implored him with tears in their
eyes not to act that day ; but his point of honour proved
unalterable. " What can I do ? " he exclaimed. " There
are fifty poor workpeople who live on their day's wage ;
what would they do if there were no performance ? "

It would have been easy for a man of his means to
indemnify these poor labourers for the loss of a day's
pay, yet Moliere' s heart was apparently set upon dying
in harness, since, unmindful of the protests of his wife and
Baron, he sent for the actors of his company. Telling
them that his health was worse that day, he warned them
that he "would not play unless all was in readiness
punctually at four o'clock."

At the hour set the candles were lighted and the cur-
tain drawn ; but Moliere played his part with difficulty,
half the audience perceiving that in pronouncing the
word jurOy in the mock ceremony which concludes the
play, a convulsion had seized him. That fantastic ballet
became indeed a dance of death ; for while his sham

1 Grimarest says "on the day of the third performance of The Imagi-
nary Invalid" although Moliere died on the day of the fourth perform-
ance, — an error probably due to Baron's defective memory.

372 MOLIERE

physicians, apothecaries, and surgeons grimaced and
pirouetted in mockery of those so powerless to arrest the
ebbing of his life, Moliere's last struggle began. It was
a point of honour not to give up, so when he saw that
the audience had noticed his agony, " he forced a smile
and with a superhuman effort held life in his body until
the curtain fell."

Tottering then to Baron's dressing-room, he asked
characteristically what the public thought of the piece.
His friend assured him that " his works were always
immensely successful when known, and that the more
they were played, the more they were liked " ; then
noticing Moliere's appearance, he remarked that he
seemed worse. " It is true," the poet answered, " I am
dying of cold." Touching his hands, Baron found them
frozen and warmed them in his muff,1 while he sent for
his friend's sedan. When the chair came, he accompanied
him home, " fearful lest some mishap might befall him
between the Palais Royal and the rue Richelieu."

Upon reaching his friend's apartment, Baron advised
Moliere to take some of the beef broth his wife kept
ready for her own use, — " no one," as Grimarest says,
" being more regardful of personal comfort than she."
"My wife's soups are like brandy," the poet replied;
" you know all the ingredients she puts in them." Ask-
ing for some Parmesan cheese which La Forest brought,
he ate it and was assisted to his bed ; then, sending
to his wife for a pillow filled with a drug " she had
promised would make him sleep," he remarked : " Any-
thing which does not enter the body I take willingly, but
the remedies which must be swallowed alarm me. I wish
nothing to rob me of the little life I have left."
1 An article at that time carried by men of fashion.

DEATH 373

Seized a moment later with a fit of coughing, he asked
for a light, and Baron, seeing he had a haemorrhage,
betrayed such alarm that Moliere assured him he need
have no fear, as " he had already seen far more.
Still," the dying man added, "go call my wife."

Two nuns were with him at the time, " of the kind who
were wont to come to Paris during Lent to ask for char-
ity." He had given them a lodging in his house, and
from them he received such " spiritual comfort as might
have been expected from their charity," l while, in the
words of Grimarest, "all the sentiments of a good
Christian were manifested to them, together with the
resignation he owed to the will of God." Suffocated
at last by the blood pouring from his mouth, he drew
his final breath in the arms of those two good women.
When his wife and Baron reached the room, he was dead.

The petition presented the archbishop of Paris by the
poet's widow for permission to bury her husband in con-
secrated ground adds to Grimarest's account of Moliere"s
death the fact that he sent to the parish church of St.
Eustache for a priest. When two ecclesiastics had in turn
refused to confess him, his brother-in-law, Jean Aubry,2
found a churchman sufficiently liberal to shrive a come-
dian; but he arrived too late to administer the last
sacraments. Moliere, however, in the words o-f the

1 As Moliere's half-sister, Catherine Poquelin, as well as a cousin-, of his
mother's, was a nun, M. Soulie (Rtcbercbts sur Moltire) hints, that one
of these relations, at least, may have been at the poet's deathbed. This
suggestion is refuted by M. Loiseleur (Les Points obscurs de la vie de
Moliere) so far as regards Moliere's sister, with the contention that being
a nun of the Convent des Visitandines, the cloistral rules of that order
would have rendered her visit to Paris impossible.

2 The husband of Genevieve Bejart and the son of Leonard Aubry
the pavier, who endorsed a loan of the ill-starred "Illustrious Theatre."

374 MOLI£RE

petition, " died with the feelings of a good Christian
manifested in the presence of two nuns and of a gentle-
man named M. Couthon,1 in whose arms he expired."
La Grange also testifies to the dramatist's Christian death.
" Immediately after the play was over," says the preface
of 1682, "Moliere went home, and no sooner was he
in bed than the cough which troubled him perpetually
became violent. The efforts he made to suppress it
were so great that he burst a vein in the lungs, and,
finding himself in that condition, turned all his thoughts
to Heaven." Furthermore, Moliere's wife states ex-
plicitly in her petition to the archbishop that her husband
had been shrived at Easter by M. Bernard, a priest of the
parish of St. Germain, — certainly sufficient evidence to
prove that in spite of his liberal views and hatred of
bigots Moliere was no unbeliever.

As actors refusing to abandon their profession were
denied the right of communion, together with cyprians,
usurers, and sorcerers, the priest who confessed Moliere
at Easter did so in disobedience to the canons of the
church. According to Bossuet,2 " those who played
comedy were deprived of the sacraments, while if an
actor failed to renounce his calling, his place at the Holy
Table was among c the public sinners/ and a Christian
burial was denied him." Regarding Moliere's death,
the great preacher exclaimed :

Posterity will perhaps know the end of this actor poet
who while playing his Imaginary Invalid, or his Physician
by Force (Medecin par force], was stricken with the last

1 Grimarest fails to mention this M. Couthon ; but Baron, his inform-
ant, probably wished it to appear that he alone attended the poet in his
last hour.

2 Maximcs et reflexions sur la comedie.

DEATH 375

attack of the malady from which he died a few hours
later, going from the laughter of the stage, where he
uttered almost his last sigh, to the tribunal of Him who
said : " Woe unto you that laugh now ! for ye shall
mourn and weep."

Such intolerance presents the story of Moliere 's tragic
burial in a comprehensible light. " As soon as he was
dead," says Grimarest, " Baron went to St. Germain to
inform the King, who was touched by the news and
deigned to show it," — apparently a wise procedure,
since there was need of Louis' good graces; the vicar
of St. Eustache having refused to perform the burial
rites because of the dead man's profession. The widow
addressed a petition to Harlay de Champvalon, arch-
bishop of Paris, in which she set forth that the priests
of the parish had refused to obey the call of a dying man
who had received the sacrament at Easter, and begged
that a dispensation should be accorded for his burial in
the church of St. Eustache ; but this plea on behalf of
the author of Tbe Hypocrite would doubtless have fallen
on deaf ears, had not the King plainly shown his wish.

Mme. Moliere, it appears, doubtful of the result of
her petition, went to St. Germain, and throwing herself
at the feet of Louis, complained of " the insult given to
the memory of her husband." " In telling the King,"
says Cizeron Rival,1 " that if her husband was a criminal
his crimes were authorised by his Majesty himself, she
paid her court badly." Moreover, she had the addi-
tional misfortune of taking with her the vicar of Auteuil
" for the purpose of testifying to the good habits of the
deceased." Instead of speaking in behalf of Moliere,
this churchman inopportunely attempted to clear himself

1 Recreations litteraircs.

376 MOLIERE

of a charge of Jansenism, — a thoughtless bit of egotism
which so angered the King that he dismissed La Moliere
by telling her that the matter depended entirely upon
the ministration of the archbishop.

It is difficult to believe that a woman of her worldly
experience could have been so tactless. Indeed, in an-
other version of the affair,1 Louis is reported to have
referred her to the archbishop without this apparent
brusqueness. Moreover, the prelate was informed that he
must proceed " in a manner calculated to avoid disturb-
ance and scandal," whereupon the interdiction was re-
voked on condition that the " burial should take place
without pomp or noise/' According to still another
account of the affair,2 Louis, upon refusal of the vicar
of St. Eustache to bury Moliere in consecrated ground,
asked to what depth it was consecrated, and learning
that it was so to a depth of four feet, replied : " Very
well, bury him at six feet and let there be no more
dispute about it."

Whatever the truth regarding these various versions
of Mme. Moliere's efforts to obtain Christian burial for
her husband, a line in Boileau's Seventh Epistle in which
he speaks of his dead friend as having been buried in
" a bit of earth obtained by supplication," indicates that
Louis was appealed to in the matter ; for the spirit in
which Moliere was accorded a burial in consecrated
ground shows that the archbishop, if left to his own
devices, would have sustained the vicar of St. Eustache.
In finally authorising the interment his Grace ordered

1 Note by Brossette to Verse nineteen of Boileau's Seventh Epistle
((Euvres de M. Boileau Despreaux, 1716).

2 Quoted by M. Mesnard (Notice biograpbique) from Le Musee
des Monuments fran$ais by Alexandre Lenoir.

DEATH 377

that it be accompanied by " no pomp, with only two
officiating priests, and that it must be performed after
dark, unaccompanied by any service either in the parish
of St. Eustache or elsewhere."

Owing to this unseemly controversy, the burial did
not take place until four days after Moliere's death. \
On February twenty-first, 1673, at nme o'clock in the
evening, the cortege started on its silent journey to the
cemetery of St. Joseph, a dependency of the parish of
St. Eustache. Bent upon creating a disturbance, a mob
had gathered before the dead man's house in the rue
Richelieu, and, according to Grimarest, Moliere's widow,
acting upon the advice of friends, threw a hundred
pistoles in gold from her window to mollify the rioters,
imploring them meanwhile in a few touching words to
pray for her husband's soul.

By the light of a hundred torches the solemn proces-
sion moved in silence to the burial ground. To divest
it of the taint of stagecraft, the wooden coffin, carried
by four bearers, was covered with the pall of the up-
holsterer's guild. Three priests * accompanied the re-
mains, six acolytes bore lighted candles in silver sticks,

1 These details of Moliere's funeral are taken from a letter (ap-
parently anonymous) addressed to Monsieur Boyvin, prfare docteur en
tbeologie, published in 1850 by Benjamin Fillon in his Considerations bis-
toriques et artistiques sur les monnaies de France. M. Mesnard (Notice
biograpbique sur Meliere) remarks that the letter, although not signed, is
sealed with a wax seal and has every appearance of being authentic. In the
matter of the three priests, however, there is a slight discrepancy in this
account with the one given by Brossette in his note to Boileau's Seventh
Epistle (CEuvres de M. Boileau Despreaux'), wherein he states that the
ceremony was performed by " two priests, who accompanied the remains
without chanting," — a statement which coincides exactly with the
archbishop's proscriptions.

378 MOLlfeRE

and a number of lackeys flaming torches. As the body
was carried through the rue Montmartre, Grimarest
asserts that some one asked a woman in the crowd the
name of the dead man. " It 's that Moliere," she re-
plied derisively; whereat another cried out: "Wretch,
he is certainly monsieur to you ! " When the cemetery
was finally reached, Moliere was buried in silence at
" the foot of the cross," 1 to the light of flaming torches
held by devoted friends.

Thus, for the crime of having been an actor, this great
Frenchman was hounded to his grave, while Armande
Bejart, remorseful for the wrong she had done him,
exclaimed far and wide : " What ! a sepulture is denied
a man worthy of altars ? " 2

This tardily repentant wife married an actor named
Guerin and outlived her noted husband twenty-seven
years ; Esprit-Madeleine, the poet's one surviving child,
married a widower named Montalant, many years her
senior, and died without issue ; so Moliere's race is
extinct. Soon after his death Lully, his ungrateful
collaborator in ballets for the court, obtained, for the
opera, the theatre in the Palais Royal ; in consequence
his comrades were forced to set up their trestles once
more in a tennis-court. In the rue Guenegaud his
widow and those of his actors who had not deserted to

1 In 1792 what were thought to be the remains of Moliere and La
Fontaine were exhumed from the cemetery of St. Joseph ; in 1 799 they
were placed by Alexandre Lenoir in his Museum of French Monuments
at the Convent of the Petits Augustins ; in 1817 they were entombed in
the cemetery of Pere La Chaise ; while in 1875 the mausoleums of these
great Frenchmen were both restored; but M. Mesnard (Notice bio-
grapbique) is of the opinion that they are both cenotaphs.

2 Note by Brossette to Boileau's Seventh Epistle ((Euvres de M.
Boileau Despreaux).

.A f ' .«

What ! A sepulture is denied a man worthy of altars ! "

DEATH 379

the Hotel de Bourgogne continued to play the pieces
of the master with indifferent success, until forced by
financial losses to unite with the comedians of the Theatre
du Marais ; then the Theatre Guenegaud became the
sole rival of the Hotel de Bourgogne.

In 1680 Louis XI V, grown austere from advancing
years and the influence of Madame de Maintenon,
decided that one theatre was sufficient for the amusement
of the citizens of Paris ; so by royal decree the compa-
nies of the Hotel de Bourgogne and the Theatre Guene-
gaud were amalgamated. Thus united, the national
French theatre, save for a short disruption during the ,
Revolution, has existed to our day. In recognition of its /
greatest founder, it is known as the House of Moliere ; :
for no other age, and no other country, has brought \
forth a claimant worthy of the throne of comedy Moliere j
left vacant.

APPENDIX

FRENCH ORIGINALS OF VERSES
TRANSLATED IN TEXT

P. 23.

Ton Hercule mourant te va rendre immortel ;
Au ciel, comme en la terre, il publiera ta gloire,
Et laissant ici-bas un temple a ta memoire,
Son bucher servira pour te faire un autel.

Verses by Madeleine Be/art in dedication to
Rotrou's Hercule Mourant.

p. 33.

Deja, dans la troupe royale

Beauchateau, devenu plus vain,

S'impatiente s'il n'etale

Le present qu'il a de ta main.

La Bejart, Beys et Moliere,

Brillants de pareille lumiere,

M'en paroissent plus orgueilleux ;

Et depuis cette gloire extreme,

Je n'ose plus m'approcher d'eux

Si ta rare bonte ne me pare de meme.

From anonymous collection of poetry
printed in 164.6.

p. 63.

MASCARILLE

. . . Ce qui me donne un depit nonpareil,
C'est qu'ici votre amour etrangement s*oublie ;
Pres de Clelie, il est ainsi que la bouillie,
Qui par un trop grand feu s'enfle, croit jusqu'aux bords,
Et de tous les cotes se repand au dehors.

382 APPENDIX

LELIE

Pourroit-on se forcer a plus de retenue ?
Je ne 1'ai presque point encore entretenue.

MASCARILLE

Oui, mais ce n'est pas tout que de ne parler pas :
Par vos gestes, durant un moment de repas,
Vous avez aux soupcons donne plus de matiere,
Que d'autres ne feroient dans une annee entiere.

LELIE
Et comment done ?

MASCARILLE

Comment ? chacun a pu le voir.
A table, ou Trufaldin 1'oblige de se seoir,
Vous n'avez toujours fait qu'avoir les yeux sur elle.
Rouge, tout interdit, jouant de la prunelle,
Sans prendre jamais garde a ce qu'on vous servoit,
Vous n'aviez point de soif qu'alors qu'elle buvoit,
Et dans ses propres mains vous saisissant du verre,
Sans le vouloir rincer, sans rien jeter a terre,
Vous buviez sur son reste, et montriez d'affecter
Le cote qu'a sa bouche elle avoit su porter.

UEtourdi, Acte IV, scene iv.
P. 74-

Avide observateur, qui voulez tout savoir,
Des anes de Gignac c'est ici Pabreuvoir.

Histoire des peregrinations de Moliere dans le
Languedoc par Emmanuel Raymond.

p. 83.

Marquise, si mon visage
A quelques traits un peu vieux,
Souvenez-vous qu'a mon age
Vous ne vaudrez guere mieux, etc.

Poesies diverses by Pierre Corneille.

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 383

P. 87.

Get illustre comedian,
Atteignit de son art Pagreable maniere.
II fut le maitre de Moliere
Et la nature fut le sien.

Quatrain printed beneath a portrait of
Scaramouche by Vermeulen.

p. 87.

. . . Par exemple, Elomire
Veut se rendre parfait dans Tart de faire rire ;
Que fait-il, le matois, dans ce hardy dessein ?
Chez le grand Scaramouche, il va soir et matin.
La, le miroir en main et ce grand homme en face,
II n'est contorsion, posture ny grimace
Que ce grand ecolier du plus grand des bouffons
Ne fasse et ne refasse en cent et cent facons.

Elomire kypocondre by Eoulanger

de Cbalussay.
P. 90.

Que faut-il encor que je die ?
Les violons, la comedie.

Muse historique^ April /p, l6jp.

P. 112.

MASCARILLE

Oh, oh ! je n'y prenois pas garde :
Tandis que, sans songer a mal, je vous regarde,
Votre ceil en tapinois me derobe mon coeur
Au voleur, au voleur, au voleur, au voleur !

Les Pr'ecieuses ridicules^ scene ix.

P. 120.

LA FEMME DE SGANARELLE

Voila de nos maris le precede commun :
Ce qui leur est permis leur devient importun.
Dans les commencements ce sont toutes merveilles ;
Us temoignent pour nous des ardeurs non pareilles ;
Mais les traitres bientot se lassent de nos feux,

384 APPENDIX

Et portent autre part ce qu'ils doivent chez eux.

Ah ! que j'ai de depit que la loi n'autorise

A changer de mari comme on fait de chemise !

Sganarelle, ou le Cocu Imaglnalre, scene v.

P. 128.

Savoir I* E cole des marls,
Charme a present de tout Paris,
Piece nouvelle et fort prisee
Que sieur M r oiler a composee,
Sujet si riant et si beau,
Qu'il fallut qu'a Fontainebleau
Cette troupe, ayant la pratique
Du serieux et du comique,
Pour Reines et Roi contenter
L'allat encor representer.

Loret In Muse bistorique.

p. .3*.

UNE NAIADE

Facheux, retirez-vous, ou s'il faut qu'il vous voie,
Que ce soit seulement pour exciter sa joie.

Les Facheux: Prologue.

p. i34.

Nous avons change de methode :
Jodelet n'est plus a la mode,
Et maintenant il ne faut pas
Quitter la nature d'un pas.

Letter of La Fontaine to Maucroix.

P. 138.

Voila Thistoire ; que t'en semble ?
Crois-tu pas qu'un homme avise
Voit par la qu'il n'est pas aise
D'accorder trois femmes ensemble ?
Fais-en done ton profit ; surtout
Tiens-toi neutre, et, tout plein d'Homere,
Dis-toi bien qu'en vain Phomme espere

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 385

Pouvoir venir jamais a bout

De ce qu'un grand dieu n'a su faire.

Letter of Chapelle to Moliere.
P. 139.

ARISTE

. , . II nous faut en riant instruire la jeunesse,

Reprendre ses defauts avec grande douceur,

Et du nom de vertu ne lui point faire peur.

Mes soins pour Leonor ont suivi ces maximes :

Des moindres libertes je n'ai point fait des crimes,

A ses jeunes desirs j'ai toujours consenti,

Et je ne m'en suis point, grace au Ciel, repenti.

J'ai souffert qu'elle ait vu les belles compagnies,

Les divertissements, les bals, les comedies ;

Ce sont choses, pour moi, que je tiens de tout temps

Fort propres a former Pesprit des jeunes gens ;

Et Pecole du monde, en Fair dont il faut vivre

Instruit mieux, a mon gre, que ne fait aucun livre.

Elle aime a depenser en habits, linge et noeuds :

Que voulez-vous ? Je tache a contenter ses voeux ;

Et ce sont des plaisirs qu'on peut, dans nos families,

Lorsque 1'on a du bien, permettre aux jeunes filles.

Un ordre paternel 1'oblige a m'epouser ;

Mais mon dessein n'est pas de la tyranniser.

Je sais bien que nos ans ne se rapportent guere,

Et je laisse a son choix liberte tout entiere.

Si quatre mille ecus de rente bien venants,

Une grande tendresse et des soins complaisants

Peuvent, a son avis, pour un tel mariage,

Reparer entre nous 1'inegalite d'age,

Elle peut m'epouser ; sinon, choisir ailleurs.

L? Ecole des marls, Acte I, scene ii*

p. .53.

DONE ELVIRE

L'hymen ne peut nous joindre, et j'abhorre des noeuds
Qui deviendroient sans doute un enfer pour tous deux.

Don Garde de Navarre, Acte I, scene i.
25

j86 APPENDIX

P. 158.

ARNOLPHE

£pouser une sotte est pour n'etre sot.

Je crois, en bon chretien, votre moitie fort sage ;

Mais une femme habile est un mauvais presage;

Et je sais ce qu'il coute a de certaines gens

Pour avoir pris les leurs avec trop de talens.

Moi, j'irois me charger d'une spirituelle

Qui ne parleroit rien que cercle et que ruelle,

Qui de prose et de vers feroit de doux ecrits,

Et que visiteroient marquis et beaux esprits,

Tandis que, sous le nom du mari de Madame,

Je serois comme un saint que pas un ne reclame ?

Non, non, je ne veux point d'un esprit qui soit haut ;

Et femme qui compose en sait plus qu'il ne faut.

Je pretends que la mienne, en clartes peu sublime,

Meme ne sache pas ce que c'est qu'une rime ;

Et s'il faut qu'avec elle on joue au corbillon

Et qu'on vienne a lui dire a son tour: " Qu'y met-on ? "

Je veux qu'elle reponde : " Une tarte a la creme" ;

En un mot, qu'elle soit d'une ignorance extreme;

Et c'est assez pour elle, a vous en bien parler,

De savoir prier Dieu, m'aimer, coudre et filer.

L'ficole desfemmes, Acte I, scene i.
P. 159.

ARNOLPHE

Dans un petit couvent, loin de toute pratique,
Je la fis clever selon ma politique ;
C'est-a-dire ordonnant quels soins on emploiroit
Pour la rendre idiote autant qu'il se pourroit.
Dieu merci, le succes a suivi mon attente;
Et grande, je Tai vue a tel point innocente,
Que j'ai beni le Ciel d'avoir trouve mon fait,
Pour me faire une femme au gre de mon souhatt.

L'Ecole des femmes, Acte I, scene i.
P. 161.

ARNOLPHE

Pourquoi ne m'aimer pas, Madame Fimpudente?

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 387

AGNES

Mon Dieu, ce n'est pas moi que vous devez blamer :
Que ne vous etes-vous, comme lui, fait aimer ?
Je ne vous en ai pas empeche, que je pense.

ARNOLPHE

Je m'y suis efforce de toute ma puissance ;
Mais les soins que j'ai pris, je les ai perdus tous.

AGNES

Vraiment, il en sait done la-dessus plus que vous ;
Car a se faire aimer il n'a point eu de peine.

UEcolt des femmes, Acte V, scene iv.

P' l6l< ARNOLPHE

£coute seulement ce soupir amoureux,

Vois ce regard mourant, contemple ma personne,

Et quitte ce morveux et Pamour qu'il te donne.

C'est quelque sort qu'il faut qu'il ait jete sur toi,

Et tu seras cent fois plus heureuse avec moi.

Ta forte passion est d'etre brave et leste :

Tu le seras toujours, va, je te le proteste ;

Sans cesse, nuit et jour, je te caresserai,

Je te bouchonnerai, baiserai, mangerai ;

Tout comme tu voudras, tu pourras te conduire :

Je ne m'explique point, et cela, c'est tout dire.

(A part.) Jusqu'ou la passion peut-elle faire aller!

Enfin a mon amour rien ne peut s'egaler :

Quelle preuve veux-tu que je t'en donne, ingrate ?

Me veux-tu voir pleurer ? Veux-tu que je me batte ?

Veux-tu que je m'arrache un cote de cheveux ?

Veux-tu que je me tue ? Oui, dis si tu le veux :

Je suis tout pret, cruelle, a te prouver ma flamme.

U Ecole des femmes, Acte V, scene iv.

P' l64' CHRYSALDE

Vous pensez vous moquer; mais, a ne vous rien feindre,
Dans le monde je vois cent choses plus a craindre

j88 APPENDIX

Et dont je me ferois un bien plus grand malheur
Que de cet accident qui vous fait tant de peur.
Pensez-vous qu'a choisir de deux choses prescrites,
Je n'aimasse pas mieux etre ce que vous dites,
Que de me voir mari de ces femmes de bien,
Dont la mauvaise humeur fait un proces sur rien,
Ces dragons de vertu, ces honnetes diablesses,
Se retranchant toujours sur leurs sages prouesses,
Qui, pour un petit tort qu'elles ne nous font pas,
Prennent droit de traiter les gens de haut en bas,
Et veulent, sur le pied de nous etre fideles,
Que nous soyons tenus a tout endurer d'elles ?
Encore un coup, compere, apprenez qu'en effet
Le cocuage n'est que ce que Ton le fait,
Qu'on peut souhaiter pour de certaines causes,
Et qu'il a ses plaisirs comme les autres choses.

L' Ecole des femmes, Acte IV, scene viii,

P- l64- ALAIN

La femme est en effet le potage de Thomme ;
Et quand un homme voit d'autres hommes parfois
Qui veulent dans sa soupe aller tremper leurs doigts,
II en montre aussitot une colere extreme.

U Ecole des femmes, Acte II, scene iii.

' * 5- ARNOLPHE

Je sais les tours ruses et les subtiles trames

Dont pour nous en planter, savent user les femmes,

Et comme on est dupe par leurs dexterites.

U Ecole des femmes, Acte I, scene i.

* *' ARNOLPHE

Quoi ? j'aurai dirige son education

Avec tant de tendresse et de precaution,

Je 1'aurai fait passer chez moi des son enfance,

Et j'en aurai cheri la plus tendre esperance ;

Mon coeur aura bati sur ses attraits naissans

Et cru la mitonner pour moi durant treize ans,

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 389

Afin qu'un jeune fou dont elle s'amourache
Me la vienne enlever jusque sur la moustache,
Lorsqu'elle est avec moi mariee a demi !
Non, parbleu ! non, parbleu !

DEcole des femmes, Acte IV, scene i.

P- l66' ARNOLPHE

Ce mot et ce regard desarme ma colere,

Et produit un retour de tendresse et de coeur,

Qui de son action m'efface la noirceur.

Chose etrange d'aimer, et que pour ces traitresses

Les hommes soient sujets a de telles foiblesses !

Tout le monde connoit leur imperfection :

Ce n'est qu'extravagance et qu'indiscretion ;

Leur esprit est mechant, et leur ame fragile ;

II n'est rien de plus foible et de plus imbecile,

Rien de plus infidele : et malgre tout cela,

Dans le monde on fait tout pour ces animaux-la.

He bien ! faisons la paix. Va, petite traitresse,

Je te pardonne tout et te rends ma tendresse.

Considere par la 1'amour que j'ai pour toi,

Et me voyant si bon, en revanche aime-moi.

UEcole des femmes, Acte V, scene iv.

P> l67- III MAXIME

Loin ces etudes d'oeillades,

Ces eaux, ces blancs, ces pommades,
Et mille ingredients qui font des teints fleuris :
A 1'honneur, tous les jours, ce sont drogues mortelles ;

Et les soins de paroitre belles

Se prennent peu pour les maris.

IV MAXIME

Sous sa coiffe, en sortant, comme 1'honneur 1'ordonne,
II faut que de ses yeux elle etouffe les coups ;
Car, pour bien plaire a son epoux,
Elle ne doit plaire a personne.

U Ecole des femmes, Acte III, scene ii.

390 APPENDIX

P. 169.

Piece qu'en plusieurs lieux on fronde,
Mais ou pourtant va tant de monde,
Que jamais sujet important
Pour le voir n'en attira tant.

Loret in Muse bistorique.
P. 169.

Laisse gronder tes envieux:

Us ont beau crier en tous lieux

Qu'en vain tu charmes le vulgaire,

Que tes vers n'ont rien de plaisant ;

Si tu ne savois un peu moins plaire,

Tu ne leur deplairois pas tant.

Boileau : Stanzas to Moliere.
P. 184.

Mais les grands princes n'aiment gueres
Que les compliments qui sont courts ;
Et le notre surtout a bien d'autres affaires

Que d'ecouter tous vos discours.
La louange et 1'encens n'est pas ce qui le touche ;

Des que vous ouvrirez la bouche
Pour lui parler de grace et de bienfait,
II comprendra d'abord ce que vous voudrez dire,

Et se mettant doucement a sourire
D'un air qui sur les coeurs fait un charmant effet,
II passera comme un trait,
Et cela vous doit suffire :
Voila votre compliment fait.

Remerclment au Roi.
P. 203.

DORINE

Mais il est devenu comme un homme hebete

Depuis que de Tartuffe on le voit entete ;

II Pappelle son frere, et Taime dans son ame

Cent fois plus qu'il ne fait mere, fils, fille, et femme.

C'est de tous ses secrets 1'unique confident,

Et de ses actions le directeur prudent ;

II le choie, il Pembrasse; et pour une maitresse

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 391

On ne sauroit, je pense, avoir plus de tendresse :

A table, au plus haut bout il veut qu'il soit assis ;

Avec joie il Py voit manger autant que six ;

Les bons morceaux de tout, il faut qu'on les lui cede;

Et, s'il vient a roter, il lui dit : " Dieu vous aide."

Enfin il en est fou ; c'est son tout, son heros ;

II Padmire a tous coups, le cite a tous propos ;

Ses moindres actions lui semblent des miracles,

Et tous les mots qu'il dit sont pour lui des oracles.

Lui, qui connoit sa dupe, et qui veut en jouir,

Par cent dehors fardes a Part de Peblouir ;

Son cagotisme en tire a toute heure des sommes.

Et prend droit de gloser sur tous tant que nous sommes.

Le Tartuffe, Acte I, scene ii.

P. 205.

ORGON

Mon frere, vous seriez charme de le connoitre;

Et vos ravissements ne prendroient point de fin.

C'est un homme ... qui ... ha ! ... un homme ... un homme enfin

Qui suit bien ses lemons, goute une paix profonde,

Et comme du fumier regarde tout le monde.

Oui, je deviens tout autre avec son entretien ;

II m'enseigne a n'avoir affection pour rien ;

De toutes amities il detache mon ame ;

Et je verrois mourir frere, enfants, mere, et femme,

Que je m'en soucierois autant que de cela.

CLEANTE
Les sentiments humains, mon frere, que voila !

ORGON

Ah \ si vous aviez vu comme j'en fis rencontre,
Vous auriez pris pour lui Pamitie que je montre.
Chaque jour a Peglise il venoit, d'un air doux,
Tout vis-a-vis de moi se mettre a deux genoux.
II attiroit les yeux de Passemblee entiere
Par Pardeur dont au ciel il poussoit sa priere ;

392 APPENDIX

II faisoit des soupirs, de grands elancements,

Et baisoit humblement la terre a tous moments :

Et lorsque je sortois, il- me devancoit vite

Pour m'aller, a la porte, offrir de 1'eau benite.

Instruit par son garden, qui dans tout Pimitoit,

Et de son indigence, et de ce qu'il etoit,

Je lui faisois des dons ; mais, avec modestie,

II me vouloit toujours en rendre une partie.

C'est trop, me disoit-il, c'est trap de la moitie ;

ye ne m'erite pas de vous faire pi tie.

Et quand je refusois de le vouloir reprendre,

Aux pauvres, a mes yeux, il alloit le repandre.

Enfin le Ciel chez moi me le fit retirer

Et depuis ce temps-la tout semble y prosperer.

Je vois qu'il reprend tout, et qu'a ma femme meme

II prend pour mon honneur, un interet extreme ;

II m'avertit des gens qui lui font les yeux doux,

Et plus que moi six fois il s'en montre jaloux.

Mais vous ne croiriez point jusqu'ou monte son zele :

II s'impute a peche la moindre bagatelle ;

Un rien presque suffit pour le scandaliser,

Jusque-la qu'il se vint 1'autre jour accuser

D'avoir pris une puce en faisant sa priere,

Et de Pavoir tuee avec trop de colere.

Le Tartuffe, Acte I, scene v.

P- 2°6'

II est de faux devots que de faux braves :
Et, comme on ne voit pas qu'ou Phonneur les conduit
Les vrais braves soient ceux qui font beaucoup de bruit,
Les bons et vrais devots, qu'on doit suivre a la trace,
Ne sont pas ceux aussi qui font tant de grimace.

Le Tartuffe, Acte I, scene v.

- 2°6' ORGON

Enfin, ma fille, il faut payer d'obeissance ;
Et montrer pour mon choix entiere deference

Le Tartuffe, Acte II, scene ii.

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 393

P' 2°7- MARIANE

Un pere, je 1'avoue, a sur nous tant d'empire,
Que je n'ai jamais eu la force de rien dire.

Le Tartuffe, Acte II, scene iii.

P* 2°7- MARIANE

Je ne vous reponds pas des volontes d'un pere ;
Mais je ne serai point a d'autre qu'a Valere.

Le Tartuffe, Acte II, scene iv.

P' 2°8' TARTUFFE

Laurent, serrez ma haire avec ma discipline,
Et priez que toujours le ciel vous illumine.
Si 1'on vient pour me voir, je vais aux prisonniers,
Des aumones que j'ai, partager les deniers.

Le Tartuffe, Acte III, scene ii.

P- 2°8- ELM.RE

Pour moi, je crois qu'au ciel tendent tous vos soupirs,
Et que rien ici-bas n'arrete vos desirs.

TARTUFFE

L'amour qui nous attache aux beautes eternelles
N'etoufFe pas en nous 1'amour des temporelles :
Nos sens facilement peuvent etre charmes
Des ouvrages parfaits que le ciel a formes
Ses attraits reflechis brillent dans vos pareilles ;
Mais il etale en vous ses plus rares merveilles :
II a sur votre face epanche des beautes
Dont les yeux sont surpris, et les coeurs transported ;
Et je n'ai pu vous voir, parfaite creature,
Sans admirer en vous Fauteur de la nature,
Et d'une ardente amour sentir mon cceur atteint,
Au plus beau des portraits ou lui-meme il s'est peint.
D'abord j'apprehendai que cette ardeur secrete
Ne fut du noir esprit une surprise adroite ;
Et meme a fuir vos yeux mon cceur se resolut,

394 APPENDIX

Vous croyant un obstacle a faire mon salut.

Mais enfin je connus, 6 beaute tout aimable,

Que cette passion peut n'etre point coupable,

Que je puis 1'ajuster avecque la pudeur,

Et c'est ce qui m'y fait abandonner mon coeur.

Ce m'est, je le confesse, une audace bien grande

Que d'oser de ce coeur vous adresser 1'offrande ;

Mais j'attends en mes vceux tout de votre bonte,

Et rien des vains efforts de mon infirmite.

En vous est mon espoir, mon bien, ma quietude ;

De vous depend ma peine ou ma beatitude ;

Et je vais etre enfin, par votre seul arret,

Heureux, si vous voulez ; malheureux, s'il vous plait.

ELMIRE

La declaration est tout a fait galante;

Mais elle est, a vrai dire, un peu bien surprenante.

Vous deviez, ce me semble, armer mieux votre sein,

Et raisonner un peu sur un pareil dessein.

Un devot comme vous, et que partout on nomme . .

TARTUFFE

Ah ! pour etre devot, je n'en suis pas moins homme :
Et, lorsqu'on vient a voir vos celestes appas,
Un coeur se laisse prendre, et ne raisonne pas.
Je sais qu'un tel discours de moi paroit etrange :
Mais, madame, apres tout, je ne suis pas un ange ;
Et, si vous condamnez Paveu que je vous fais, ~
Vous devez vous en prendre a vos charmants attraits
Des que j'en vis briller la splendeur plus qu'humaine,
De mon interieur vous futes souveraine ;
De vos regards divins 1'ineffable douceur
For^a la resistance ou s'obstinoit mon coeur ;
Elle surmonta tout, jeunes, prieres, larmes,
Et tourna tous mes voeux du cote de vos charmes.
Mes yeux et mes soupirs vous Pont dit mille fois ;
Et, pour mieux m'expliquer, j 'emploie ici la voix.
Que si vous contemplez, d'une ame un peu beiiigne,

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 395

Les tribulations de votre esclave indigne ;

S' il faut que vos home's veuillent me consoler,

Et jusqu'a mon neant daignent se ravaler,

J'aurai toujours pour vous, 6 suave merveille,

Une devotion a nulle autre pareille.

Votre honneur avec moi ne court point de hasard,

Et n'a nulle disgrace a craindre de ma part.

Tous ces galants de cour, dont les femmes sont folles,

Sont bruyants dans leurs faits et vains dans leurs paroles ;

De leurs progres sans cesse on les voit se targuer;

Us n'ont point de faveurs qu'ils n'aillent divulger ;

Et leur langue indiscrete, en qui 1'on se confie,

Deshonore Pautel ou leur coeur sacrifie.

Mais les gens comme nous brulent d'un feu discret,

Avec qui, pour toujours, on est stir du secret.

Le soin que nous prenons de notre renommee

Repond de toute chose a la personne aimee ;

Et c'est en nous qu'on trouve, acceptant notre coeur,

De 1'amour sans scandale, et du plaisir sans peur.

Le Tartuffe^ Acte III, scene iii.

P'211' TARTUFFE.

Oui, mon frere, je suis un mechant, un coupable,

Un malheureux pecheur, tout plein d'iniquite,

Le plus grand scelerat qui jamais ait etc.

Chaque instant de ma vie est charge de souillures ;

Elle n'est qu'un amas de crimes et d'ordures ;

Et je vois que le ciel, pour ma punition,

Me veut mortifier en cette occasion.

De quelque grand forfait qu'on me puisse reprendre,

Je n'ai garde d'avoir 1'orgueil de m'en defendre.

Croyez ce qu'on vous dit, armez votre courroux,

Et comme un criminel chassez-moi de chez vous ;

Je ne saurois avoir tant de honte en partage,

Que je n'en aie encore merite davantage.

Le Tartufe, Acte III, scene vi.

396 APPENDIX

P'212' L' EXEMPT

Nous vivons sous un prince ennemi de la fraude,

Un prince dont les yeux se font jour dans les cceurs,

Et que ne peut tromper tout Fart des imposteurs.

D'un fin discernement sa grande ame pourvue

Sur les choses toujours jette une droite vue ;

Chez elle jamais rien ne surprend trop d'acces,

Et sa ferme raison ne tombe en nul exces.

II donne aux gens de bien une gloire immortelle j

Mais sans aveuglement il fait briller ce zele,

Et 1'amour pour les vrais ne ferme point son coeur

A tout ce que les faux doivent donner d'horreur.

Le Tartuffe, Acte V, scene derniere.

P< 2I3- TARTUFFE

Je puis vous dissiper ces craintes ridicules,
Madame, et je sais Tart de lever les scrupules.
Le ciel defend, de vrai, certains contentements ;
Mais on trouve avec lui des accommodements.
Selon divers besoins, il est une science
D'etendre les liens de notre conscience,
Et de rectifier le mal de Faction
Avec la purete de notre intention.
De ces secrets, madame, on saura vous instruire ;
Vous n'avez seulement qu'a vous laisser conduire.
Contentez mon desir, et n'ayez point d'effroi ;
Je vous reponds de tout, et prends le mal sur moi.

Le Tartuffe, Acte IV, scene v.

P- 2l6' CLEANTE

Que ces francs charlatans, que ces devots de place,

De qui la sacrilege et trompeuse grimace,

Abuse impunement, et se joue, a leur gre

De ce qu'ont les mortels de plus saint et sacre ;

Ces gens qui, par une ame a Finteret soumise,

Font de devotion metier et marchandise,

Et veulent acheter credit et dignites.

Le Tartuffe, Acte I, scene v.

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 397

8* ALCESTE

Non, je ne puis soufFrir cette lache methode

Qu'affectent la plupart de vos gens a la mode ;

Et je ne hais rien tant que les contorsions

De tous ces grands faiseurs de protestations,

Ces affables donneurs d'embrassades frivoles,

Ces obligeants diseurs d 'inutiles paroles,

Qui de civilites avec tous font combat,

Et traitent du meme air 1'honnete homme et le fat.

Quel avantage a-t-on qu'un homme vous caresse,

Vous jure amitie, foi, zele, estime, tendresse,

Et vous fasse de vous un eloge eclatant,

Lorsque au premier faquin il court en faire autant ?

Non, non, il n'est point d'ame un peu bien situee

Qui veuille d'une estime ainsi prostituee ;

Et la plus glorieuse a des regals peu chers,

Des qu'on voit qu'on nous mele avec tout Punivers :

Sur quelque preference une estime se fonde,

Et c'est n'estimer rien qu'estimer tout le monde.

Puisque vous y donnez, dans ces vices du temps,

Morbleu ! vous n'etes pas pour etre de mes gens ;

Je refuse d'un coeur la vaste complaisance

Qui ne fait de merite aucune difference ;

Je veux qu'on me distingue ; et, pour le trancher net,

L'ami du genie humain n'est point du tout mon fait.

Le Misanthrope, Acte I, scene i.

ALCESTE

Non : elle est generale, et je hais tous les hommes :
Les uns, parce qu'ils sont mechants et malfaisants,
Et les autres, pour etre aux mechants complaisants,
Et n'avoir pas pour eux ces haines vigoureuses
Que doit donner le vice aux ames vertueuses.

Tetebleu ! ce me sont de mortelles blessures,
De voir qu'avec le vice on garde des mesures ;

398 APPENDIX

Et parfois il me prend des mouvements soudains
De fuir dans un desert 1'approche des humains.

PHILINTE

Mon Dieu, des moeurs du temps mettons-nous moins en peine,
Et faisons un peu grace a la nature humaine ;
Ne 1'examinons point dans la grande rigueur,
Et voyons ses defauts avec quelque douceur.
II faut, parmi le monde, une vertu traitable ;
A force de sagesse, on peut etre blamable ;
La parfaite raison fuit toute extremite,
Et veut que Ton soit sage avec sobriete.
Cette grande roideur des vertues des vieux ages
Heurte trop notre siecle et les communs usages ;
Elle veut aux mortels trop de perfection :
II faut flechir au temps sans obstination ;
Et c'est une folie a nulle autre seconde
De vouloir se meler de corriger le monde,

Le Mtsantbrop , Acte I, scene i.

P- 26° PHIL.NTE

Mais cette rectitude

Que vous voulez en tout avec exactitude,
Cette pleine droiture, ou vous vous renfermez,
La trouvez-vous ici dans ce que vous aimez ?
Je m'etonne, pour moi, qu'etant, comme il le semble,
Vous et le genre humain si fort brouilles ensemble,
Malgre tout ce qui peut vous le rendre odieux,
Vous avez pris chez lui ce qui charme vos yeux ;
Et ce qui me surprend encore davantage,
C'est cet et range choix ou votre coeur s'engage.
La sincere Eliante a du penchant pour vous,
La prude Arsinoe vous voit d'un oeil fort doux ;
Cependant a leurs voeux votre ame se refuse,
Tandis qu'en ses liens Celimene Pamuse,
De qui 1'humeur coquette et 1'esprit medisant
Semble si fort donner dans les moeurs d'a present.
D'ou vient que, leur portant une haine mortelle,

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 399

Vous pouvcz bien souffrir ce qu'en tient cette belle ?
Ne sont-ce plus defauts dans un objet si doux ?
Ne les voyez-vous pas ? ou les excusez-vous ?

ALCESTE

Non, Pamour que je sens pour cette jeune veuve
Ne ferme point mes yeux aux defauts qu'on lui treuve,
Et je suis, quelque ardeur qu'elle m'ait pu donner,
Le premier a les voir, comme a les condamner.
Mais, avec tout cela, quoi que je puisse faire,
Je confesse mon foible ; elle a 1'art de me plaire :
J'ai beau voir ses defauts, et j'ai beau Pen blamer,
En depit qu'on en ait, elle se fait aimer ;
Sa grace est la plus forte ; et sans doute ma flamme
De ces vices du temps pourra purger son ame.

Le Misanthrope, Acte I, scene i.

P- z61' ALCESTE

II est vrai : ma raison me le dit chaque jour;
Mais la raison n'est pas ce qui regie Pamour.

Le Misanthrope, Acte I, scene i.

P- 262' ALCESTE

Si le Roi m'avoit donne

Paris, sa grand'ville,
Et qu'il me fallut quitter

L'amour de ma mie,
Je dirois au roi Henri :

" Reprenez votre Paris :
J'aime mieux ma mie, au gue !

J'aime mieux ma mie."

Le Misanthrope, Acte I, scene ii.

P- 263- ALCESTE

J'en pourrois, par malheur, faire d'aussi mechants;
Mais je me garderois de les montrer aux gens.

Le Misanthrope, Acte I, scene ii.

400 APPENDIX

P- 263- CELIMENE

Des amants que je fais me rendez-vous coupable ?
Puis-je empecher les gens de me trouver aimable ?
Et lorsque pour me voir ils font de doux efforts,
Dois-je prendre un baton pour les mettre dehors ?

ALCESTE

Non, ce n'est pas, Madame, un baton qu'il faut prendre,
Mais un occur a leur voeux moins facile et moins tendre.
Je sais que vos appas vous suivent en tous lieux ;
Mais votre accueil retient ceux qu'attirent vos yeux ;
Et sa douceur offerte a qui vous rend les armes
Acheve sur les coeurs 1'ouvrage de vos charmes.

Le Misanthrope, Acte II, scene i.

P- z64" ALCESTE

Mais moi, que vous blamez de trop de jalousie,
Qu'ai-je de plus qu'eux tous, Madame, je vous prie ?

CELIMENE
Le bonheur de savoir que vous etes aime.

Le Misanthrope, Acte II, scene i.

ALCESTE

Morbleu ! faut-il que je vous aime ?
Ah ! si de vos mains je rattrape mon coeur?
Je benirai le Ciel de ce rare bonheur !
Je ne le cele pas, je fais tout mon possible
A rompre de ce cceur Pattachement terrible ;
Mais mes plus grands efforts n'ont rien fait jusqu'ici.
Et c'est pour mes peches que je vous aime ainsi.

Le Misanthrope, Acte II, scene i,

5- CELIMENE

O Pennuyeux conteur !

Jamais on ne le voit sortir du grand seigneur ;
Dans le brillant commerce il se mele sans cesse,

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 401

Et ne cite jamais que due, prince, ou princesse :

La qualite Pentete ; et tous ses entretiens

Ne sont que de chevaux, d'equipage et de chiens ;

II tutaye en parlant ceux du plus haut etage,

Et le nom de Monsieur est chez lui hors d'usage.

Le Misanthrope, Acte II, scene iv.

2(55- CLITANDRE

Mais le jeune Cleon, chez qui vont aujourd'hui
Nos plus honnetes gens, que dites-vous de lui ?

CELIMENE

Que de son cuisinier il s'est fait un merite,
Et que c'est a sa table a qui Ton rend visite.

Le Misanthrope, Acte II, scene iv.

265- ALCESTE

Aliens, ferme, poussez, mes bons amis de cour ;
Vous n'en epargnez point, et chacun a son tour :
Cependant aucun d'eux a vos yeux ne se montre,
Qu'on ne vous voie, en hate, aller a sa rencontre,
Lui presenter la main, et d'un baiser flatteur
Appuyer les serments d'etre son serviteur.

Le Misanthrope, Acte II, scene iv.

266' ELUNTH

L'amour, pour 1'ordinaire, est peu fait a ces lois,
Et Ton voit les amants vanter toujours leur choix ;
Jamais leur passion n'y voit rien de blamable,
Et dans 1'objet aime tout leur devient aimable :
Us comptent les defauts pour des perfections,
Et savent y donner de favorables noms.
La pale est aux jasmins en blancheur comparable ;
La noire a faire peur, une brune adorable ;
La maigre a de la taille et de la liberte ;
La grasse est dans son port pleine de majeste ;
La malpropre sur soi, de peu d'attraits chargee,
Est mise sous le nom de beaute negligee ;
26

402 APPENDIX

La geante parott une deesse aux yeux ;

La naine, un abrege des merveilles des cieux ;

L'orgueilleuse a le coeur digne d'une couronne ;

La fourbe a de 1'esprit ; la sotte est toute bonne ;

La trop grande parleuse est d'agreable humeur ;

Et la muette garde une honnete pudeur.

C'est ainsi qu'un amant dont Pardeur est extreme

Aime jusqu'aux defauts des personnes qu'il aime.

Le Misanthrope, Acte II, scene iv.

Oui, oui, Tranche grimace :

Dans Tame elle est du monde, et ses soins tentent tout
Pour accrocher quelqu'un, sans en venir a bout.
Elle ne sauroit voir qu'avec un ceil d'envie
Les amants declares dont une autre est suivie ;
Et son triste merite, abandonne de tous,
Contre le siecle aveugle est toujours en courroux.
Elle tache a couvrir d'un faux voile de prude
Ce que chez elle on voit d'affreuse solitude;
Et pour sauver 1'honneur de ses foibles appas,
Elle attache du crime au pouvoir qu'ils n'ont pas.
Cependant un amant plairoit fort a la dame,
Et meme pour Alceste, elle a tendresse d'ame. . . .

Le Misanthrope, Acte III, scene iii.

67' ClLIMENE

Madame, on peut, je crois, louer et blamer tout,
Et chacun a raison, suivant Page ou le gout.
II est une saison pour la galanterie ;
II en est une aussi propre a la pruderie.
On peut, par politique, en prendre le parti,
Quand de nos jeunes ans Peclat est amorti :
Cela sert a couvrir de facheuses disgraces.
Je ne dis pas qu'un jour je ne suive vos traces :
L'age amenera tout, et ce n'est pas le temps,
Madame, comme on sait, d'etre prude a vingt ans.

Le Misanthrope, Acte III, scene iv.

ORIGINAL OF VERSES IN TEXT 403

P. 269.

ALCESTE

Ciel ! rien de plus cruel peut-il 6tre invente ?
Et jamais coeur fut-il de la sorte traite ?
Quoi ? d'un juste courroux je suis emu centre elle,
C'est moi qui me viens plaindre, et c'est moi qu'on

querelle !

On pousse ma douleur et mes soup9ons a bout,
On me laisse tout croire, on fait gloire de tout ;
Et cependant mon coeur est encore assez lache
Pour ne pouvoir briser la chaine qui 1'attache,
Et pour ne pas s'armer d'un genereux mepris
Centre 1'ingrat objet dont il est trop epris !
Ah ! que vous savez bien ici, centre moi-meme,
Perfide, vous servir de ma foiblesse extreme,
Et menager pour vous Pexces prodigieux
De ce fatal amour ne de vos traitres yeux !
Defendez-vous au moins d'un crime qui m'accable,
Et cessez d'affecter d'etre envers moi coupable ;
Rendez-moi, s'il se peut, ce billet innocent :
A vous preter les mains, ma tendresse consent ;
Efforcez-vous ici de paroitre fidele,
Et je m'effbrcerai, moi, de vous croire telle.

CELIMENE

Allez, vous etes fou, dans vos transports jaloux,
Et ne meritez pas 1'amour qu'on a pour vous.
Je voudrois bien savoir qui pourroit me contraindre
A descendre pour vous aux bassesses de feindre,
Et pourquoi, si mon coeur penchoit d'autre cote,
Je ne le dirois pas avec sincerite.
Quoi ? de mes sentiments 1'obligeante assurance
Centre tous vos soup9ons ne prend pas ma defense ?
Aupres d'un tel garant, sont-ils de quelque poids ?
N'est-ce pas m'outrager que d'ecouter leur voix ?
Et putsque notre coeur fait un effort extreme
Lorsqu'il peut se resoudre a confesser qu'il aime,

4o4 APPENDIX

Puisque 1'honneur du sexe, ennemi de nos feux,

S'oppose fortement a de pareils aveux,

L'amant qui voit pour lui franchir un tel obstacle

Doit-il impunement douter de cet oracle ?

Et n'est-il pas coupable en ne s'assurant pas

A ce qu'on ne dit point qu'apres de grands combats ?

Allez, de tels soupcons meritent ma colere,

Et vous ne valez pas que Ton vous considere :

Je suis sotte, et veux mal a ma simplicite

De conserver encor pour vous quelque bonte ;

Je devrois autre part attacher mon estime,

Et vous faire un sujet de plainte legitime.

ALCESTE

Ah ! traitresse, mon foible est etrange pour vous !

Vous me trompez sans doute avec des mots si doux ;

Mais il n'importe, il faut suivre ma destinee :

A votre foi mon ame est toute abandonee ;

Je veux voir, jusqu'au bout, quel sera votre coeur,

Et si de me trahir il aura la noirceur.

CELIMENE
Non, vous ne m'aimez point comme il faut que Ton aime.

ALCESTE

Ah ! rien n'est comparable a mon amour extreme ;
Et dans Pardeur qu'il a de se montrer a tous,
II va jusqu'a former des souhaits centre vous.
Oui, je voudrais qu'aucun ne vous trouvat aimable,
Que vous fussiez reduite en un sort miserable,
Que le Ciel, en naissant, ne vous cut donne rien,
Que vous n'eussiez ni rang, ni naissance, ni bien,
Afin que de mon coeur 1'eclatant sacrifice
Vous put d'un pareil sort reparer Pinjustice,
Et que j'eusse la joie et la gloire, en ce jour,
De vous voir tenir tout des mains de mon amour.

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 405

CE"LIMENE

C'est me vouloir du bien d'une etrange maniere !
Me preserve le Ciel que vous ayez matiere . . . !

Le Misanthrope, Acte IV, scene iii.

P- 27'- ALCESTE

II semble que le sort, quelque soin que je prenne,
Ait jure d'empecher que je vous entretienne ;
Mais pour en triompher, souffrez a mon amour
De vous revoir, Madame, avant la fin du jour.

Le Misanthrope, Acte IV, scene iv.

P' 2?2- CELIMENE

Oui, vous pouvez tout dire :

Vous en etes en droit, lorsque vous vous plaindrez,
Et de me reprocher tout ce que vous voudrez.
J'ai tort, je le confesse, et mon ame confuse
Ne cherche a vous payer d'aucune vaine excuse.
J'ai des autres ici meprise' le courroux,
Mais je tombe d'accord de mon crime envers vous.
Votre ressentiment, sans doute, est raisonnable :
Je sais combien je dois vous paroitre coupable,
Que toute chose dit que j'ai pu vous trahir,
Et qu'enfin vous avez sujet de me hai'r.
Faites-le, j'y consens.

ALCESTE

He ! le puis-je, traitresse ?
Puis-je ainsi triompher de toute ma tendresse ?
Et quoique avec ardeur je veuille vous hai'r,
Trouve-je un coeur en moi tout pret a m'obeir ?

{A Eliante et Philinte^)

Vous voyez ce que peut une indigne tendresse,
Et je vous fais tous deux temoins de ma foiblesse.
Mais, a vous dire vrai, ce n'est pas encor tout,
Et vous allez me voir la pousser jusqu'au bout,
Montrer que c'est a tort que sages on nous nomme,

406 APPENDIX

Et que dans tous les coeurs il est toujours de rhomme.
Oui, je veux bien, perfide, oublier vos forfaits ;
J'en saurai, dans mon ame, excuser tous les traits,
Et me les couvrirai du nom d'une foiblesse
Ou le vice du temps porte votre jeunesse,
Pourvu que votre coeur veuille donner les mains
Au dessein que j'ai fait de fuir tous les humains,
Et que dans mon desert, ou j'ai fait voeu de vivre,
Vous soyez, sans tarder, resolue a me suivre :
C'est par la seulement que, dans tous les esprits,
Vous pouvez reparer le mal de vos ecrits,
Et qu'apres cet eclat, qu'un noble coeur abhorre,
II peut m'etre permis de vous aimer encore.

Moi, renoncer au monde avant que de vieillir,
Et dans votre desert aller m'ensevelir !

ALCESTE

Et s'il faut qu'a mes feux votre flamme reponde,
Que vous doit importer tout le reste du monde ?
Vos desirs avec moi ne sont-ils pas contents ?

CELIMENE

La solitude effraye une ame de vingt ans :
Je ne sens point la mienne assez grande, assez forte,
Pour me resoudre a prendre un dessein de la sorte.
Si le don de ma main peut contenter vos vceux,
Je pourrai me resoudre a serrer de tels noeuds ;
Et 1'hymen . . .

ALCESTE

Non : mon coeur a present vous deteste,
Et ce refus lui seul fait plus que tout le reste.
Puisque vous n'etes point, en des liens si doux,
Pour trouver tout en moi, comme moi tout en vous,
Allez, je vous refuse, et ce sensible outrage
De vos indignes fers pour jamais me degage.

Le Misanthrope, Acte V, scene derniere.

ORIGINALS OF VERSES IN TEXT 407

?- 2?4- ALCESTE

Puissiez-vous, pour gouter de vrais contentements,

L'un pour 1'autre a jamais garder ces sentiments !

Trahi de toutes parts, accable d'injustices,

Je vais sortir d'un goufFre ou triomphent les vices,

Et chercher sur la terre un endroit ecarte

Ou d'etre homme d'honneur on ait la liberte.

Le Misanthrope, Acte V, scene derniere.

P. 284.

Affecter un air pedantesque,
Cracher du grec et du latin,
Longue perruque, habit grotesque,
De la fourrure et du satin,
Tout cela reuni fait presque
Ce qu'on appelle un medecin.

Les Medecins au temps de Moliere,

Maurice Raynaud, page 81.

CHRONOLOGY

1615, October 6 . . Joseph Bejart marries Marie Herve.

1617 Catherine de Vivonne establishes the Hotel de Ram-

bouillet.
1618, January 8 . . Madeleine Bejart born. Recorded in parish of St. Paul.

1621, February 22 . Marriage contract between Jean Poquelin and Marie

Cresse.

" April 27 ... Jean Poquelin and Marie Cresse married in St. Eustache
church.

1622, January 15 . . Jean-Baptiste Poquelin (Moliere), eldest son of Jean,

Poquelin and Marie Cresse, baptised in St. Eustache;
church.
1626, April 13 . . . Death of Moliere's paternal grandfather, Jean Poquelin.

" Moliere's friend, Claude Emmanuel Chapelle, born.

1629 First meetings of Academicians at the home of Conrart.

1631, April 2 ... Nicolas Poquelin resigns position of valet de chambre

tapissier at court to his elder brother Jean, Moliere's
father.

1632, May ii .. . Burial of Moliere's mother, aged thirty-one.

1633, January 19-31 Inventory made of the Poquelin family effects on account

of the death of Moliere's mother.

" May 30 ... Moliere's father marries Catherine Fleurette.
" September 30 . Moliere's father buys house under arcades of market
place near St. Eustache church.

1636 Moliere probably entered Jesuit College at Clermont.

" November I . Birth of Boileau, surnamed Despreaux.
" « 12 . Death of Catherine Fleurette.

« Rotrou publishes, in the dedication to his TTie Dying

Hercules (Hercule mourant), some verses by Madeleine
Bejart.

1637, March 29 . . Reversion of office of valet de chambre tapissier settled on
Moliere.

Death of Moliere's maternal grandfather, Louis Cresse*.

July ii ... Frangoise, illegitimate child of Esprit de Remond de
Modene and Madeleine Bejart, baptised. She was
born on the third of July.

1639 Richelieu builds theatre in the Palais Cardinal, afterward

known as Palais Royal.
" December 21 . Jean Racine born, at La Ferte-Milon.

4io

CHRONOLOGY

1641, February . . The epicurean philosopher Gassendi, after an absence of
about seven years, returns to Paris ; Moliere becomes
his. pupil.

Journey of Louis XIII to Narbonne, where (May 12)
Cinq Mars and De Thou are arrested for plotting
Richelieu's death. Possible presence of Moliere in
King's suite as valet de chambre tapissier.

Death of Cardinal Richelieu.

Moliere receives from his father the sum of 630 livres
on account of his mother's estate and renounces his
right of succession to the office of Royal Upholsterer.

Marie Herve, widow of Joseph Bejart, takes proceedings
to abandon right of husband's inheritance.

Signing of the contract establishing "The Illustrious
Theatre."

Moliere signs lease with Noel Gallois, the tennis master,
for the Mestayers' Tennis-court.

The Fair of the Pardon at Rouen opened, Moliere being
there with the members of " The Illustrious Theatre."

The members sign contract for alterations to their Paris
house.

The members sign obligation to pay Leonard Aubry 200
livres for pavement in front of their theatre.

" The Illustrious Theatre " probably opened.

« "The Illustrious Theatre "receives the right to style itself

" The Company of His Royal Highness " ( Troupe en-
tretemie par son Aliesse Royale), the Duke of Orleans.

Jean-Baptiste Poquelin for the first time signs his name
" Mgli^e," in contract with the ballet-master Daniel
Mollet.

Debt drives " The Illustrious Theatre " from their play-
house and they rent another tennis-court, The Black
Cross, in the rue des Barres.

Opening of the Black Cross play-house.

Moliere arrested for debt and imprisoned in the Grand

Chatelet.
August 2-4 » Moliere again imprisoned in the Grand Chitelet.

Moliere released under bond.

Leonard Aubry, who paved the street hi front of the
Mestayers' Tennis-court, goes upon Moliere's bond.
Five of the members of " The Illustrious Theatre "
sign the obligation to indemnify Aubry.

1645, Autumn (or Spring of 1646). Moliere leaves Paris and begins his

theatrical career in the country.

1646, December 24 . Moliere's father gives the pavier Leonard Aubry his

note for 300 livres.

1647, August-September " Comedians of the Duke of Epernon " at Albi.

1642

" December 4
1643, January 6 .

" June 10 . .

" 30 • •
0 September 12
" October 23
" November 3
" December 28
1644, January i

\ « June 28 .
" December 19

1645, January 8 .
" July . . .

2-4
5 -
13 •

CHRONOLOGY

411

1647, October . .

1648, April 23

" May 17 . .

" « 18 . .

1650, January 16 .

1651, April 14 . .

" Autumn (or

1652

1653, February 19
" March . .
" September .

1654, February 22

" August 1 8 .
" December 5

1655, February 7 .

. The "Comedians of the Duke of Epernon" at Carcas-
sonne.

. "The Sieur Morlierre [sic], one of the comedians of

the troupe of the Sieur Dufresne " appears before the

civic authorities of Nantes, humbly to beg permission

to erect a stage and present comedies.

. Dufresne confers with the city authorities of Nantes

about a play to be given for the benefit of the town

hospital. y

. The play given. Dufresne, Du Pare, Marie Herve, and

Madeleine Be j art sponsors at the baptism of Reveil-

lon's daughter.

. Moliere signs his name in Narbonne as " Jean-Baptiste-

Poquelin, valet de chambre du roi."

. Giovanni Battista Lully (Lulli), a Florentine composer

and violinist, joins Royal French Orchestra. Soon

thereafter appointed Director of Music to Louis XIV.

. Moliere in Paris in connection with the settlement of his

mother's estate. Receives 1965 livres.
Winter of 1651-52). Moliere meets Charles Coypeau

d'Assoucy at Carcassonne.

. Claude Emmanuel Chapelle, natural son of Fra^ois
Luillier, maitre des comptes, but legitimised at age of
sixteen, inherits fortune through death of father.
. Moliere present in Lyons at wedding of Gros-Rene (Du

Pare) and Marquise de Gorla.
. Probable first performance of The Blunderer (L'£tourdi)

at Lyons. (See pages 45-49.)

. Moliere's first professional appearance before the Prince
de Conti at La Grange-des-Pres. For three years
thereafter Moliere's company known as "The Come-
dians of the Prince de Conti."
. The Prince de Conti marries Anna Martinozzi, Mazarin's

niece, and is appointed governor of Guienne.
. Ragueneau a candle snuffer at a Lyons play-house.
. He dies there.

. The poet Sarrasin dies at Pezenas. Moliere is considered
by the Prince de Conti for the position of secretary
left vacant by Sarrasin's death, but Moliere declines.
. Opening of the States (£tats) of Montpellier. Moliere's

troupe summoned there.

. During session of the States at Montpellier presentation
of The Ballet of the Incompatible* (Le Ballet des
Incompatibles ) .

Antoine Baralier, tax-gatherer at Montelimart, acknowl-
edges an indebtedness to Madeleine Bejart (acting
as the troupe's treasurer) of 3200 livres.

4I2

1655. March 14 .
" April i . .

1655-56, Winter .
1656, February 22

" December 12
1657, May 15 ..

1658, February .
" April 30 . .
" August . .

" October 24 .

" November 2

1659, April 1 6 . .

" July . . .

" November 7
18

CHRONOLOGY

The States of Languedoc close at Montpellier. Moliere's
troupe receives 8000 livres for a four months' stay.

Madeleine Bejart lends the province of Languedoc the
sum of 10,000 livres.

Moliere and Charles Coypeau d'Assoucy pass three
months together at Lyons.

At a session of the States held at Pezenas, the authorities

pay Moliere's company 6000 livres for its services.
The States of Languedoc adjourned. The Prince de
Conti is converted to Jansenism by the Bishop of
Aleth.

Joseph Bejart receives 1500 livres for a genealogy of
the provincial nobility of Languedoc, which he has
written.

Chapelle and Bachaumont journey through Languedoc.

The Abbe de Pure publishes a novel: The Precieuse ;
or, The Mystery of the Alcove (La Precieuse ou le mysfire
de la ruelle). He also writes a comedy on a similar
topic which is presented by the Italians at the Hotel
du Petit Bourbon.

The Love Tiff (Le Dtpit amoureux) performed for the
first time at Beziers.

The Prince de Conti writes from Lyons to the Abbe
Ciron : " . . . there are comedians here who formerly
bore my name. I have forbidden them to use it
longer. . . ."

Moliere at Grenoble.

Moliere at Rouen.

Moliere makes frequent trips to Paris to secure protec-
tion of Monsieur, the King's brother.

Moliere plays for the first time before the King, in the
Guard room of the Old Louvre : Corneille's Nicomedes
(Nicomede) and The Doctor in Love (Le Do^ir
amoureux). Address of Moliere to the King in the
presence of the Comedians of the Hotel de Bour-
gogne. The King's decree makes Moliere's company
La Troupe de Monsieur, frere unique du roi.

Monsieur's Comedians appear in public at the Hotel du
Petit Bourbon.

Moliere opens the theatrical season with The Love Tiff
at the chateau of Chilly-Mazarin.

The Italians leave for Italy, and Moliere is in sole
possession of the Hotel du Petit Bourbon.

Maria Theresa affianced to Louis XIV.

First performance of Les Precieuses ridicules, at the
Hotel du Petit Bourbon, preceded by Cinna. Moli-
ere in the role of Maicarille.

CHRONOLOGY

i66o, May 7 ...
" 28 ...

« June 7 . . .
< 9 . . .

" July and August

.-.'V. .October 6 . .
" n .

" 26 .

1661, January 20 .
" February 4 .

" March 9 ..
« April I ..

" June 24 . .
" July ii . .

" " 13 • -
" August 17 .

" September 5
1662, January 9 .

23 .
" February 20
" May 8 . .
« July . . .

Moliere produces a comedy by M. Gilbert: The True
and the False Precieuse (La Vraye et fausse prkieuse}.

First performance of Sganarelle ; or, The Imaginary
Cuckold (Sganarelle ou le cocu imaginaire] , at the Petit
Bourbon. Moliere in the role of Sganarelle.

The King meets the Infanta Maria Theresa at frontier.

The King's marriage at Saint-Jean-de-Luz, the bishop of
Bayonne officiating.

King at Vincennes. Moliere plays before him three
times.

Death of Scarron.

M. de Ratabon, Superintendent of the King's buildings,
begins to destroy the Hotel du Petit Bourbon without
warning to Moliere. The King gives Moliere the
theatre in the Palais Royal.

Moliere presents The Blunderer and Les Prtcieuses ridi-
cules at the Louxre^before the dying Mazarin.

Moliere's renovated theatre at the Palais Royal opened
with The Love Tiffixd. Sganarelle.

First performance, at the Palais Royal, of Don Garcia de
Navarre ; or, The Jealous Prince (Don Garde de Na-
varre, ou le Prince jaloux). Moliere in the role of
Don Garcia.

Mazarin dies at Vincennes.

Moliere receives a double share in the net receipts of
his troupe.

First performance, at the Palais Royal, of The School for \
Husbands (L'£colc des marts). Moliere in the role of
Sganarelle.

The School for Husbands given at Vaux-le-Vicomte dur-
ing a fete offered by Fouquet to the Queen of England,
Monsieur and Madame.

The School for Husbands performed before the King at
Fontainebleau.

First performance of The Bores (Les FAcheux) before the
King, at Vaux-le-Vicomte, just before Fouquet's
downfall. Moliere in several minor parts.

Fouquet arrested at Nantes by d'Artagnan.

The Italians begin again to alternate with Moliere at the
Palais Royal.

Marriage contract concluded between Moliere and
Armande Bejart.

Moliere and Armande Bejart married at St. Germain
1'Auxerrois.

Moliere's troupe commanded by the King to St. Germain-
en-Laye. Stay eleven days.

They are again commanded by the King to St. Germain-

1 662, December 26

1663, January 6 .
" March 17 .

" June i . .
« October 18 .

19
1664, January 17

.. 29

" February 15

" " 28

" May; • •

1 12 . .

" Junes . .

" « 20 . .

" August 4 .
" September 25

" November 10
" « 14

« « 29

CHRONOLOGY

en-Laye and stay the whole month. The troupe

receives 14,000 livres.
First performance of The School for Wives (L'£cole des

femmes). Moliere in the role of Arnolphe.
The School for Wives performed at the Louvre.
Moliere's name appears for the first time on the King's

pension list. He receives 1000 livres.
First performance of The Criticism of the School for

Wives (La Critique de Ftcole des femmes).
Probable first performance of The Versailles Impromptu

(V Impromptu de Versailles}. Moliere in the role of

Moliere.
Boursault's play The Portrait of the Painter (Le Portrait

du peintre) given for the first time at the Hotel de

Bourgogne.
M. de Brecourt's The Great Booby of a Son as Foolish

as his Father (Le Grand benfr de fils aussi sot que son

ptre) is first performed at the home of M. Le Tellier.
Louis, Moliere's eldest son, born.
The Forced Marriage (Le Mariage forcf] presented in

Anne of Austria's apartment at the Louvre. Moliere

in the role of Sganarelle.
First (public) performance of The Forced Marriage at

the Palais Royal.

Baptism of Moliere's son Louis, the King as godfather.
Beginning of a series of fetes at Versailles, called " The

Pleasures of the Enchanted Isle " (Les Plaisirs de

Ftle enchantle). On the second day, first performance

of " The Princess of Elis " (La Princesse d*£lide) with

Moliere in the role of Modern.
(The sixth day of " The Pleasures of the Enchanted Isle.")

First performance of the first three acts of The Hypo-
crite (Le Tartnffe\. Moliere in the role of Orgon.
The troupe of Mme. Raisin performs at the Palais Royal.

The acting of young Baron so pleases Moliere that

he takes him into his household and troupe.
First performance, by Moliere's troupe at the Palais

Royal, of Racine's first tragedy, La Thtbaide.
The King permits Moliere to read The Hypocrite before

Cardinal Chigi, the papal legate, at Fontainebleau.
The King permits the three acts of The Hypocrite to be

played at Villers-Cotterets before the Due d'Orleans

and members of the royal family.
Louis, Moliere's son, dies.
La Grange begins to replace Moliere as orateur of the

troupe.
The whole (five acts) of The Hypocrite probably

CHRONOLOGY

1664

1665, February 15 .
" June 13 ...

" August 4 . .

" " 14 . .
" September 15

" December 4

" 18 .

1666, June 4 . . .
" August 6 . .
« December 2

€t tt

1667, February 14 .

for the first time, before the Prince de Conde* at
Raincy.

Moliere, Racine, La Fontaine, and Chapelle meet three
times a week with Boileau at his home in the rue
Colombier (now rue Jacob).

First performance of Don Juan ; or, the Feast of Stone,
(Don Juan ou lefestin de pier re}. Moliere in the role
of Sganarelle.

Moliere, commanded by the King to Versailles, presents
The Favozirite (Le Favori}, a comedy by Mile, des
Jardins. Moliere as a Ridiculous Marquess inter-
rupts the performance.

Baptism of Esprit-Madeleine, daughter of Moliere, at
St. Eustache church. Godfather, M. de Modene ;
godmother, Madeleine Be j art.

The troupe, at St. Germain-en-Laye, becomes " The
King's Troupe," with a pension of 6000 livres.

Probable first performance of Love as a Doctor (L? Amour
medecin], with prologue, two entr'actes, music by
Lully and a ballet, at Versailles. Moliere in the
role of Sganarelle.

First performance (in public) of Love as a Doctor at the
Palais Royal.

Moliere produces Racine's Alexander at the Palais
Royal.

Racine has his Alexander played at the Hotel de Bour-
gogne without warning to the management of the
Palais Royal.

First performance of The Misanthrope at the Palais
Royal. Moliere in the role of Alceste, and his wife
in that of Celimene.

First performance of The Doctor in Spite of Himself
(Le Medecin malgrS lui). Moliere in the role of
Sganarelle.

The Ballet of the Muses begins at St.-Germain-en-Laye.
At the third entree occurs the first performance of
Moliere's Melicerte, an heroic pastoral. Moliere in
the role of Lycarsis. The Comic Pastoral (La Pas-
torale comique}, with Moliere in the role Lycas, was
produced at the same time.

Baron leaves Moliere and re-enters Mme. Raisin's troupe,
because Mile. Moliere had boxed his ears during
a rehearsal of Melicerte. Moliere's rupture with his
wife occurs soon after.

Probable first performance of The Sicilian ; or, Love as a
Painter (Le Sicilien ou F Amour peintre} at St. Ger-
main. Moliere in the role of Don Pedre.

4i6

CHRONOLOGY

1667, March . . .
" Easter Closing

" August 5 . .

II .

1 668, January 13 .
" JulyiS . .

" August 31 .
" September 9
" October 9 .

" December 24

1669, February 5 .

" 25
" October 7 .

1670, January 4 .

" " 9 .

" February 4 .

Racine induces Mile. Therese de Gorla du Pare to desert
Moliere's forces and join the Hotel de Bourgogne.

The Palais Royal remains closed for over six weeks.
Moliere seriously ill. For two months he lives upon
a milk diet and retires to Auteuil, where he has rented
a house with Chapelle.

First performance of The Hypocrite at the Palais Royal,
but under the title of The Impostor (Ulmposteur] and
with Tartuffe's name changed to Panulphe.

Order from the Court of Parlement forbidding the
presentation of The Hypocrite . Interruption of seven
weeks. La Grange and La Thorilliere sent to the
King before Lille requesting permission to present
The Hypocrite.

The Archbishop of Paris, Hardouin de Perefixe, forbids
The Hypocrite to be presented, read, or listened to in
his diocese.

First performance of Amphitryon at the Palais Royal,
Moliere in the role of Sosie.

First performance of George Dandin ; or, The Abashed
Husband (George Dandin ou le Mr>rie confondu) at
Versailles, during a fete held in celebration of the
Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle. Moliere hi the title role.

Moliere lends his father, under the name of the latter's
friend, Jacques Rohault, the sum of 8000 livres.

First performance of The Miser (L'Avare) at the Palais
Royal. Moliere in the role of Hacpagon.

Subligny's The Foolish Quarrel ; or, The Criticism of
Andromachus (La Folle Querelle ou la critique d'An-
dromaque), produced at the Palais Royal.

Moliere, under the name of Jacques Rohault, lends his
father 2000 livres more.

First regular performance of The Hypocrite at the Palais
Royal, the play being restored to the stage by royal
decree. Moliere in the role of Orgon. Receipts
reach the sum of 2860 livres.
Death of Moliere's father, at the age of 73 years.
First performance of Monsieur de Pourceaugnac at
Chambord. Moliere in the title role.

Le Boulanger de Chalussay's £.lomire the Hypochondriac ;
or, The Doctors Avenged (£lomire hypocondre ou les
mldecins venges} published.

Death of Marie Herve, widow of Joseph Bejart.

First performance of The Magnificent Lovers (Les
Amants magnifiques), the subject of which is
suggested by the King. Moliere in the role of
Clitidas.

CHRONOLOGY

1670, March 23

" October 14 .

" November 23

1671, January 17 .

" May 24 . .
" December 2

1672, January 9 .
" February 14
17
" March II

" September 15
" October I .
" 10 .
1673, February 10

1677, May 29 . .
1680 .

Moliere's troupe retires Louis Bejart on a pension of

loco livres a year.
First performance of The Burgher, a Gentleman (Le

Bourgeois gentilhomme), before the court at Cham-

bord. Moliere in the role of Monsieur Jourdain.
First performance of The Burgher, a Gentleman at the

Palais Royal.

Baron restored to Moliere's favour.
Psyche, tragedy ballet, put forth hurriedly for the Carni-
val, and made in collaboration with Corneille, Qui-

nault, and Sully. Performed at the Tuileries. Moliere

in the role of Zephyre.
First performance of The Rascalities of Scapin (Les Four-

beries de Scapin} at the Palais Royal. Moliere in the

role of Scapin.
First performance of La Comtesse d* Escarbagnas, given

as an introduction to a court ballet at St. Germain.

Moliere plays no role.

Probable time of Moliere's reunion with his wife.
Madeleine Bejart, being ill, executes her testament.
Codicil to Madeleine Bejart's will executed.
Death of Madeleine Bejart.
First performance of The Learned Women (Les Femmes\

savantes) at the Palais Royal. Moliere in the role of

Chrysale. I

Pierre-J.-B.-Armand, Moliere's third child, born.

Pierre baptised.

Death of Pierre.

First performance of The Imaginary Invalid (Le Malade

imaginaire), Moliere's last comedy. Moliere in the

role of Argan.
At four o'clock, fourth performance of The Imaginary

Invalid. Moliere has haemorrhage. Death comes

about ten o'clock at his home in the rue Richelieu.
Request made by Moliere's widow to the Archbishop of

Paris for permission to give Moliere Christian burial.
Burial at nine o'clock in the evening of Moliere in the

cemetery of St. Joseph.
Moliere's widow marries Guerin d'Estriche.
Louis XIV amalgamates the Hotel de Bourgogne and

the troupe of Moliere.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

THIS bibliography contains the titles of those books only which are
quoted, referred to, or have been specially consulted in the preparation of
this work. For supplemental bibliographies the reader is directed to the
Bibliographic Holier esque by Paul Lacroix; to Volume XI of the (Euvres
de Moliere, edited by Eugene Despois and Paul Mesnard; and to the
Catalogue of the Moliere Collection in Harvard College Library. Details
concerning these volumes will be found below.

AIME-MARTIN, L. : Editors (Euvres completes de Molilre, avec les notes

de tous les commentateurs. Paris, 1824-1826. 8 vols.
ALEXANDRE, Doctor : Molilre et les m^decins. Amiens, 1854. Lec-
ture given at the Academy of Amiens.

ALLAINVAL, LEONOR-JEAN-CHRISTINE-SOULAS, Abb£ d' : Memoires sur
Molttre et sur Mme. Gutrin, sa veuve; suivis des Mdmoires sur
Baron et sur Mile. Lecouvreur. Paris, 1822.

This volume, which is part of the Collection sur fart dramatique,
contains :

I. La Vie de Molttre by Grimarest (reprint);
II. Extrait des Mtmoires de Mme. Gutrin, veuve de Moltire ;
III. Lettre d My lord . . . sur Baron et la Demoiselle Lecouvreur

(reprint) ;
IV. Lettre sur la come"die de rimposteur (reprint).

ALLIER, RAOUL: La Cabale des Devots (1627-1666). Paris, 1902.
ANONYMOUS: Anonymiana, ou Melanges de poe'sies, d'e'loquence, et

d'e'rudition. Paris, 1700.
ANONYMOUS: Le Ballet des Incompatibles. Montpelier, 1665. See

Collection Molitresque, Vol. VII.
ANONYMOUS : La Critique du Tartuffe. Paris, 1670. See Collection

Molieresque, Vol. X.
ANONYMOUS: La Fameuse Comedienne, ou Histoirede la Gue'rin aupara-

vant femme et veuve de Moliere. Frankfort, 1688. Reprint, 1876.

See Livet. See also Collection. Molieresque, Vol. XI.
ANONYMOUS: Lettre sur la come" die de Vlmposteur. Paris, 1667. See

Collection Molieresque, Vol. XVII.
ANONYMOUS : Notice sur le fauteuil de Molilre, par M . . . Second

edition, Paris, 1836.
ANONYMOUS : Le Songe du rtveur. Paris, 1660. See Collection

Molieresque, Vol. I.

420 BIBLIOGRAPHY

ASSOUCY, CHARLES COYPEAU D' : Les Aventures de Monsieur cTAs-

soucy. Paris, 1677. 2 vols.
AUBIGNAC, FRANCOIS-HEDELIN, Abbd d' : Quatrieme dissertation con-

cernant le poeme dramatique, servant de rdponse aux calomnies de

M. Corneil le. Paris, 1663.
AUBIGN£, THEODORE-AGRIPPA D' : Les A ventures du baron de Fceneste.

Geneva, 1630. Edition of 1855, edited and annotated by Prosper

Me*rimee.
— - AUGER, LOUIS-SIMON : Editor, (Euvres de Moliere^ avec un Commentaire,

un Discours preliminaire sur la come'die, et une Vie de Moliere.

Paris, 1819-1825. 9 vols.

BACHAUMONT, FRANCOIS LE COIGNEUX DE. See Chapelle.

BAILLET, ADRIEN. See Malassis.

BALUFFE, AUGUSTS : Molttre inconnu : Sa Vie. Paris, 1886.

BARON, called MICHEL BOYRON: Le Thldtre de Mr. Baron. Paris,

1759. 3 v°ls- First edition appeared in 1736 in 2 vols.
BAUDOUIN, F.-M. : Les Femmes dans Molttre. Rouen, 1865.
BAYLE, PIERRE: Dictionnaire historique et critique. Rotterdam, 1697.

2 vols.

BAZIN, A. : Les Dernttres Annies de Moliere. Extract from La Revue
des Deux Mondes. Paris, January 15, 1848.

Notes historiques sur la vie de Molttre. Paris, 1851.
BEAUCHAMPS, PIERRE-FRANCOIS GODAR DE: Recherches sur les tht-

dtres en France, depuis 1'annde onze cent soixante et un, jusques a

present. Paris, 1735. 3 vo^s-
BEFFARA, LOUIS-FRANCOIS : Dissertation sur J.-B. Poquelin-Moliere,

sur ses anc£tres, Vtyoque de sa naissance, qui avait /// inconnue

jusqrfa present; sur son buste; sur la veritable tpoque de son

mariage . . . ; sur la maison ou il est mort . . . ; sur les comediens

et comediennes Btjart, freres et sceurs de Mme. Moliere . . . Paris,

1821.

BLACK, John. See Schlegd.
BLETON, A. : Moltire a Lyon. Lecture given on May 30, 1900. Printed

at Lyons, Press of A. Rey.

BOILEAU DESPREAUX, NICOLAS: CEuvres de M. Boileau Desprtaux
(see Brossette).

L? Art pottique. First appeared in the edition of 1674 of CEuvres
diverses du sieur D . . .

Satires du sieur D . . . Paris, 1666.

Stances d M. Moliere sur sa cotnedie de l'£cole des femmes que
plusietirs gens frondoient. First published in Part I of a Collec-
tion made in 1663, entitled Les Delices de la pohie galante des plus
celebres auteurs de ce temps.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 421

«i

BOSSUET, JACQUES-BE"NIGNE : Maximes et reflexions sur la comedie.

Paris, 1694.

BOULAN, GERARD DU, pseudonym of Romuald de Pelletier de Saint-
Remy. L1 Enigme d"* Alceste, nouvel aper$u historique et moral sur
le X VII siecle. Paris, 1 8 79 .
BOUQUET, F. : La Troupe de Moliere et les deux Corneilles a Rouen en

1658. Paris, 1880.
BOURSAULT, EDME: Le Medecin volant. See Nottvelle Collection

Molieresque, Vol. XIII.

Le Portrait du Peintre, ou la Contre-critique de V£cole des femmes.
Paris, 1663. Reprinted in 1879. See Nouvelle Collection Molie-
resque, Vol. IV.

BRECOURT, GUILLAUME MARCOUREAU, Sieur de. See Nouvelle Collec-
tion Molieresque, Vol. VI ; also Malassis.
BROSSETTE, CLAUDE: Notes de Brossette. Manuscript volume in the

Bibliothtque nationale.

Brossette's Notes have been collected in the Recreations litteraires
(see Cizeron Rival) and in the Correspondance entre Boileau-Des-
preaux et Brossette . . . (see Laverdef).
(Euvres de M. Boileau-Desprtaux avec des tclaircissements histo-

riqttes donnts par lui-meme. Geneva, 1716. 2 vols.
BRUNETIERE, FERDINAND : Manuel de I'Histoire de la literature fran-

qaise. Second edition, Paris, 1899.

BRUYERE, JEAN DE LA: Les Caracteres de Thtophraste traduits du
grec, avec les Caracteres ou les M&urs de ce siecle. Paris, 1688.

CAILHAVA D'ESTANDOUX, JEAN FRANCOIS : Etudes sur Moltire, ou

Observations sur la vie, les mceurs, les ouvrages de cet auteur, et

sur la maniere de jouer ses pieces, potir faire suite aux diverses

editions des (Euvres de Moliere. Paris, an X. — 1802.

CAMPARDON, £MILE : Documents inedits sur . . . Moliere, decouverts et

publies avec des notes . . . Paris, 1871.

Les Come"diens du Roi de la troupe fran^aise pendant les deux der-
niers siecles. Documents inedits recueillis aux Archives nationales.
Paris, 1879.
Nouvelles pieces sur Moliere et sur qtielques come'diens de sa troupe,

recueillies aux Archives nationales. Paris, 1876.
CHALUSSAY, LE BOULANGER DE : Elomire hypocondre ou les me'decins

vengds. Paris, 1670. See Collection Molieresque, Vol. III.
CHAMPMELE", CHARLES CHEVILLET, Sieur de : Les Fragments de

Molilre. Paris, 1682. See Collection Molitresque, Vol. XVIII.
CHAPELLE, CLAUDE-EMMANUEL LUILLIER : Extrait d'une lettre ecrite
de la campagne (by Chapelle to Moliere) and a letter from the
same to the same dated in the spring of 1659, also written from

422 BIBLIOGRAPHY

the country, are found in Vol. V of the Recueil des plus belles
pieces des poetes franqois, tant anciens que modernes, depuis
Villon jusqu'a M. de Benserade. Paris, 1692.
CEuvres de Chapelle et de Bachautnont. The Hague, 1755.
Voyage de MM. de Bachaumont et de la Chapelle, avec un melange
de pieces fugitives tire'es du cabinet de M. de Saint-£vremont.
Utrecht, 1697.

CHAPPUZEAU, SAMUEL : LAcadtmie des femmes. Paris, 1661.
Le Thtdtre franqois, divided into three books treating :

I. DePUsage de la Comtdie.
II. Des Auteurs qui soutiennent le Theatre.
III. De la Conduite des comtdiens. Lyons and Paris, 1674.
CHARDON, HENRI : La troupe du Roman comique de'voile'e et les come1-

diens de campagne au XVIIe siecle. Le Mans and Paris, 1876.
Nouveaux documents sur les comediens de campagne et la vie de
Moliere — Vol. I: M. de Modbie, ses deux femmes et Madeleine
Bejart. Paris, 1886.

CHATEAUNEUF, ABB& DE : Dialogue sur la musique des anciens. Post-
humous work published in 1725.

CHERON, MME. See Nouvelle Collection Molitresque, Vol. VII.
CHEVALIER, J. : Les Amours de Calotin. Paris, 1664. See Collection

Molitresque, Vol. XVI.
CHORIER, NICOLAS: De Petri Boessatii . . . vita amicisque litteratis.

Grenoble, 1680.

CIZERON RIVAL, FRANCOIS- Louis : Recreations litttraires, ou anecdotes
et remarques sur diffe'rents sujets, recueillies par M. C. R. (Cizeron
Rival.) Paris and Lyons, 1765.

CLARETIE, JULES : Moliere, sa vie et ses oeuvres. Paris, 1873.
COLLARDEAU, PHIL^AS : La Salle de thtdtre de Molttre au port Saint-
Paul, avec le plan du jeu de paume de la Croix-Noire et celui de
I'hStel Barbeau. Paris, 1876.
Collection Molitresque. See Nouvelle Collection Molitresque.

This collection was published from 1867-75 bv Paul Lacroix. It
contains reprints, with notes, notices and plates, of the works
following. Most of the volumes are separately described under
their individual headings.

I. Le Songe du rtveur by Guillaume de Luyne, 1660.
II. Le Rot glorieux au monde by Pierre Roulld, 1664.

III. £lomire hypocondre ou Les Mtdecins vengts by Le Boulanger

de Chalussay, 1670.

IV. Joguenet ou les Vieillards dupe's by Moliere. It is the first

form of the Fourberies de Scapin, 1670.

V. La Guerre comique ou la Defense de F£cole des femmes. It
is a dialogue in prose by Philippe de la Croix, Paris, 1664.
VI. VEnfer burlesque. — Le Mariage de Belphegor. — Les

Epitaphes de M. de Moliere. Cologne, 1677.
VII. Le Ballet des Incompatibles. Printed at Montpelier, 1655.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

4*3

VIII. Zttinde,Q\i la Veritable critique de ?£cole des femmes et
la Critique de la Critique by Donneau de Vise*, Paris,
1663.
IX. Les Veritables Prdcieuses by Antoine Baudeau de Somaize,

1660.

X. La Critique du Tartuffe, pre'ce'de'e d'une Lettre satirique
(en vers) sur le Tartuffe, tcrite a hauteur de la Critique.
Paris, 1670.
XI. La Fameuse Comedienne, o\\ Histoire de la Gutrin, aupara-

vantfemme et veuve de Moliere. Frankfort, 1688.
XII. Observations sur le Fes tin de Pierre, et Rtponse aux Obser-
vations touchant le Festin de Pierre by B. A. Sr de
R(ochemont). Paris, 1665.

XIII. R/ponse a r Impromptu de Versailles ou la Vengeance des
marquis by Jean Donneau de Vise*. Published in the
Diversit^s galantes, 1 664.

XIV. Le Mariage sans manage, comedy by Marcel, 1672.
XV. La Cocue imaginaire, comedy imitated from Le Cocu

imaginaire, by F. Doneau, 1660.

XVI. Les Amours de Calotin, comedy by Chevalier, 1664.
XVII. Lettre sur la comtdie de P Imposteur, dated Aug. 20, 1667.
XVIII. Les Fragments de Moliere, comedy by Champmesld.
XIX. Lettre sur les affaires du thtdtre, et Extrait des Nouvelles
nouvelles by Donneau de Vise*. Published in the
Diversith galantes, 1664.

XX. L? Impromptu de I'hdtel de Conde", comedy by Antoine
Jacob Montfleury, 1664.

COLOMBEY, EMILE : Ruelles, Salons, et Cabarets. Histoire anecdotique
de la litte'rature fra^aise. Paris, 1888-1892. 2 vols.

CONSTANT, CHARLES : Molttre a Fontainebleau (1661-1664). Simple
note historique suivie de la biographic du comddien de Brie. Meaux,

1873-
CONTI, LOUIS-ARMAND DE BOURBON, PRINCE DE : Trait/ de la comtdie

et des spectacles, selon la tradition de VEglise tirte des conciles et

des saints Peres. Paris, 1666.
COPIN, ALFRED : Histoire des comediens de la troupe de Moltire. Paris,

1885.

COQUELIN, CONSTANT: Moliere et le Misanthrope. Paris, 1881.
COSNAC, DANIEL DE : Mtmoires de Daniel de Cosnac . . . Public's

pour la Socie't/ de V Histoire de France, by M. le Comte Jules de

Cosnac. Paris, 1852. 2 vols.

COTIN, CHARLES, Abbe\ See Nouvelle Collection Molifresque. Vol. XII.
COURTIN, ANTOINE DE: Nouveau Traitt de la Civilitt qui se pratique

en France parmi les honn£tes gens. Paris, 1712.
COUSIN, VICTOR : La Socittt Fran^aise au XVIIe siecle, d'apres Le

Grand Cyrus de Mile, de Scuddry. Paris, 1886. 2 vols.
CRANE, THOMAS FREDERICK: La Socittt Franqaise au dix-septttme

424 BIBLIOGRAPHY

siecle. An Account of French Society in the XVI Ith Century

from Contemporary Writers. Edited, with Introduction and

Notes. New York and London, 1889.
Les Hdros de Roman. Dialogue de Nicolas Boileau-Desprtaux.

Edited with introduction and notes. Boston, 1902.
CROIX, PHILIPPE DE LA : La Guerre comique ou la Defense de
1'Ecole des femmes. Paris, 1664. See Collection Molitresque,
Vol. V.

D AVIGNON, HENRI : Molilre et la me: Moliere et les femmes. — Moliere
et la bourgeoisie. — Moliere et les petites gens. — Le drame dans
Moliere. Paris, 1904.

DESFEUILLES, ARTHUR and PAUL. See Mesnard.
DESPOIS, EUGENE, Editor. See Mesnard.

Le The'dtre fran$ais sous Louts XIV. Paris, 1874.
DESPREAUX. See Boileau.
DONEAU, FRANCOIS : La Cocue imaginaire. Paris, 1660. See Collection

Moltiresque, Vol. XV.
DONNEAU DE VIZE, JEAN : Conversation dans une ruelle de Paris sur

Molttre, dtfunt (1673). Reprinted in 1877. See Malassis.
La Veuve a la mode. See Nouvelle Collection Molitresque, Vol. IX.
Lettre tcrite sur la com^die du Misanthrope. Placed before this
comedy in the original edition of 1667, and reproduced by MM.
Despois and Mesnard in Vol. V of their edition of the CEuvres de
Moliere.
Lettre sur les affaires du the'dtre, dans les Diversity's galantes.

Paris, 1664. See Collection Molitresque, Vol. XIX.
Le Mercure galant : A monthly journal, in which, under the form of
letters, this author published the news of the court, anecdotes,
verses, the announcement and criticism of new plays, etc. Founded
in 1672.
Nouvelles nouvelles. Paris, 1663. See Collection Molieresque,

Vol. XIX.
Oraison funlbre de Moliere. See Nouvelle Collection Molieresque,

Vol. I.
Rtponse a V Impromptu de Versailles, ou la Vengeance des marquis.

Paris, 1664. See Collection Molieresque, Vol. XIII.
Zelinde, ou la Veritable critique de r Ecole des femmes et la Critique
de la Critique. Paris, 1663. See Collection Molieresque, Vol.
VIII.
DREYSS, CHARLES : MSmoires de Louis XIV (Edition of M. Charles

Dreyss). Paris, 1860.

Du CASSE, A. : Histoire anecdotique de Pancien the'dtre en France. Paris,
1864. 2 vols.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 425

FILLON, BENJAMIN : Recherches sur le sejour de Moliere dans V Quest de

la France en 1648. Fontenay-le-Comte, 1871.

FOURNEL, VICTOR : Les Contemporains de Moliere. Recueil de comd-
dies, rares ou peu connues, joudes de 1650 a 1680, avec Phistoire
de chaque theatre, des notes et notices biographiques, bibliogra-
phiques, et critiques. Paris, 1863-1875. 3 vols.
Le Vieux Paris: Fetes, jeux, et spectacles. Tours, 1887.
FOURNIER, EDOUARD : Etudes' sur la vie et les ceuvres de Moliere, revues
et mises en ordre par Paul Lacroix, et pre'ce'de' d'un Preface par
Auguste Vitu. Paris, 1885.
Histoire du Pont-Neuf. Paris, 1862. 2 vols.

Le Roman de Moliere, suivi de fragments sur sa vie prive'e d'apres
des documents nouveaux. Paris, 1863.

GALIBERT, L. See Raymond.

GAZETTE, LA, de France. See Renaudot.

GENIN, FRANCOIS : Lexique compare de la langue de Moliere et des Scri-

vains du 'XVIIe siecle, suivi d'une lettre a M. A. F. Didot. . . .

Paris, 1846.
GONZALES, EMMANUEL : Les Caravanes de Scaramouche, avec une

Notice historique par Paul Lacroix. Paris, 1881.
GRIMAREST, JEAN-L^ONOR LE GALLOIS, Sieur de. La Vie de M. de

Moliere. Paris, 1705.

GUERET, GABRIEL. See Nouvelle Collection Molieresque, Vol. XVI.
GUIZOT, FRANCOIS-PIERRE-GUILLAUME : Corneille et son temp s : Etude

litte'raire. Paris, 1852.

HARVARD COLLEGE. See Lane.

HAWKINS, FREDERICK : Annals of the French stage from its origin to
the death of Racine. London, 1884.

HILLEMACHER, FR£D£RIC : Galerie historique des portraits des comt-
diens de la troupe de Moliere, grave's a I'eau forte, sur des docu-
ments authentiques. Avec des details biographiques succincts,
relatifs a chacun d'eux. Dddie* a la Come'die Francoise. Second
edition, Lyons, 1869.

HOUSSAYE, ARSENE: La Comtdie Franqaise, 1680-1880. Paris, 1880.
Les Comfdiens de Molttre. Paris, 1879.

BIBLIOGRAPHY.

JACOB, P.-L., pseudonym of PAUL LACROIX. See Lacroix.

JAL, A. : Dictionnaire critique de biographic et d'histoire. Errata et
supplement pour tous les dictionnaires historiques, d'apres des doc-
uments authentiques inddits. Paris, 1867.

JAMES, GEORGE PAYNE RAINSFORD : The Life and Times of Louis the
Fourteenth. London, 1838. 4 vols.

JARDINS, MLLE. DES, later MME. DE VILLEDIEU : Rtcit en prose et en

vers de la farce des Prtcieuses. Paris, 1660.
Reprint. See Nouvelle Collection Molitresque, Vol. III.

JOUAUST, D. : Editor, Thtatre complet de J.-B. Poquelin de Molttre.
Preface par M. D. Nisard de 1' Academic Francaise. Dessins de
Louis Leloir grave's a 1'eau forte par Flameng. Paris, 1876-1883.
8 vols.

JUSSERAND, JEAN-ADRIEN-ANTOINE-JULES : Shakespeare in France under
the Ancien Regime. London and New York, 1899.

K
KERJEAN, Louis DE : Moliere, est-il venu a Nantes ? Nantes, 1863.

LA BRUYERE. See Bruylre.

LACOUR, Louis : Etudes sur Moltire. — Le Tartuffe par ordre de Louis
XIV. Le "veritable prototype de T Imposteur. Recherches nouvelles.
Pieces ine'dites. Paris, 1877.

LACROIX, PAUL, also known under the pseudonym of P.-L. Jacob, biblio-
phile.

Bibliographie Molitresque. Paris, 1875.
XVIIme Sihle: Institutions, usages, et costumes. France, 1590-1700.

Ouvrage illustre'. Paris, 1880.

XVIIme Sttcle: Lettres, sciences, et arts. Paris, 1882.
Iconographie Molitresque. Seconde Edition. Revue, corrige'e et

considdrablement augmentde. Paris, 1876.
Editor : Collection Molitresque. See Collection Molitresque.
Nou-velle Collection Molitresque, from 1879 to X884. See Nouvelle

Collection Molitresque.
See Fournier (Etudes sur la vie . . . de Moliere} ; also Gonzalh

(Les Caravanes de Scaramouche).
Author (under the name of P.-L. Jacob) : La Jeunesse de Moltire,

suivie du Ballet des Incompatibles, piece en vers inddite de Moliere.

Paris, 1858.
La Veritable Edition originale des CEuvres de Moltire. Etude bibli-

ographique. Paris, 1874.
Prefaces and Notices in the following reprints : Nouvelle Collection

BIBLIOGRAPHY 427

Molitresque, Vols. I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI,
XII , X 1 1 1 . See Nouvelle Collection Molitresque.
LA FONTAINE, JEAN DE : Les Amours de Psyche" et de Cupidon. Paris

1669.

LA GRANGE, CHARLES VARLET, Sieurde: Registre (1658-1685). See
Thierry.

Vie de Moliere. See Malassis.

Editor : Les CEuvres de Monsieur de Moliere. See Vinot.
LAIR, JULES : Louise de la Vallilre et lajeunesse de Louis XIV, d'apres

des documents intdits. Paris, 1902.
LANE, WILLIAM COOLIDGE : Editor, Bibliographical Contributions, No.

57, Catalogue of the Moliere Collection in Harvard College Library.

Cambridge, 1906.

LANG, ANDREW : Article Moltire in Vol. XVI (1883) of the Encyclope-
dia Britannica.

LARROUMET, GUSTAVE : Etudes d^ Histoire et de Critique dramatiques.
Paris, 1892.

La Comtdie de Moliere, 1'auteur et le milieu. Paris, 1886.
LA THORILLIERE, LENOIR, Sieur de : Premier Registre. See Nouvelle

Collection Molieresque, Vol. XVII.
LAUN. See Van Laun.
LAVERDET, AUGUSTS : Correspondance entre Boileati-Desprtaux et Bros-

sette . . . publiee sur les manuscrits originaux. Paris, 1858.
LAVOIX, HENRI : La premiere Representation du Misanthrope (4 juin,

1666). Paris, 1877.
LEFEUVE, CHARLES: Les Anciennes Maisons de Paris: Histoire de

Paris, rue par rue, maison par maison. First edition, Paris, 1857-

1859.^ Fifth edition, Paris and Leipzig, 1875. 5 vols.
L'HoTE, EDOUARD : Origines du Theatre en France. Article in V Ar-
tiste, a Paris review, for October, 1884.
LIVET, CHARLES-L. : Les Intrigues de Moltire et celles de safemme, ou

La Fameuse Comedienne. Histoire de la Gue'rin. (Reprint.) Paris,

1876. See Collection Molitresque, Vol. XI.
LOCK, FR^D^RIC : Rues et monuments de Paris. Guide alphabdtique a

1'usage des voyageurs et des Parisiens. Paris, 1855.
LOISELEUR, JULES : Les Points obscurs de la vie de Moltire. Les anndes

d'£tude, les anndes de lutte et de vie nomade, les ann£es de gloire. —

Mariage et manage de Moliere. Paris, 1877.
LORET, JEAN : La Muse historique, ou receuil de lettres en vers, conte-

nant les nouvelles du temps, e'crites a Mme. la duchesse de Longue-

ville, depuis le 4 mai, 1650 jusqu'au 28 mars, 1665. Paris, 1650-1665.

3 vols.
Lou ANDRE, CHARLES: Editor, CEuvres completes de Moliere. Edition

variorum, pre'ce'de'e d'un prdcis de 1'Histoire du theatre en France,

de la biographic de Moliere, rectified, accompagne'e de variantes,

pieces, et fragments de pieces . . . Paris, 1852. 3 vols.
LUCAS, HIPPOLYTE : Almanack de tout le monde, contenant Vhistoire

de la vie populaire de Moltire. Paris, 1844.

428 BIBLIOGRAPHY

MALASSIS, A. P. : Moliere jug6 par ses contemporains. This volume,
which is preceded by a notice by A. P. Malassis, comprises reprints
of the following works: Conversation dans une riielle de Paris sur
Moliere, dtfunt by Donneau de Vize" (1673); L 'Ombre de Moliere
by Guillaume Marcoureau de Brdcourt ; Vie de Moliere en abre'ge' by
Charles Varlet de la Grange (1682); M. de Molttre by Adrien
Baillet (1686) ; Poquelin de Moliere by Charles Perrault (1697).
Paris, 1877.

MANTZIUS, KARL: A History of Theatrical Art in Ancient and

Modern Times, translated by Louise von Cossel. Vol. IV: Moliere

and His Times: The Theatre in France in the 17th Century.

London, 1905.

MARCEL: Le Mariage sans mariage. Paris, 1672. See Collection

Molieresque, Vol. XIV.

MARIGNY, JACQUES CARPENTIER DE : Relation des divertissements que
le Roi a donnts aux Reines dans le pare de Versailles, tcrite a un
gentilhomme qui est prdsentement hors de France. Paris, 1664.
MARTINENCHE, E. : Moliere etle Theatre espagnoL Paris, 1905.
MARTINIERE, BRUZEN DE LA : Nouvelle Vie de Moliere. Amsterdam,

1725.

MATTHEWS, JAMES BRANDER : Article Molttre en Amtrique, in the
Molitriste for August, 1881; also an article entitled Moliere: The
Life and the Legend, in Lippincotf s Magazine for April, 1879.
MENAGE, GILLES : Menagiana. Paris, 1693.
MERCURE GALANT, LE. See Donneau de Vize".
MERIMEE, PROSPER. See Aubignd.

MESNARD, PAUL. Editor : (Euvres de Moliere. Nouvelle Edition,
revue sur les plus anciennes impressions, et augmente'e de variantes,
de notices, de notes, d'un lexique des mots et locutions remarquables,
d'un portrait, de fac-simile, etc.

The first three volumes, and a part of the fourth of this edition were
edited by Eugene Despois ; the fourth volume, from Le Tartuffe,
and all thereafter by Paul Mesnard. Paris, 1873-1900. 13 vols.,
together with an Album. (Vol. XI, Notice bibliographique by
Arthur Desfeuilles. Vols. XII &.X\\\, Lexique de la langue de
Molttre, with introduction, by Arthur and Paul Desfeuilles.)
Author: Notice biographique sur Moliere. Vol. X (edition noted

above). Paris, 1889.
MESNIL, E. REVEREND DU : La Famille de Molttre et ses reprtsentants

actuels d*apres les documents authentiques. Paris, 1879.
Les A ieux de Moliere a Beauvais et a Paris, d'aprh les documents

authentiques. Paris, 1879.

MICHELET, JULES : Louis XIV et Ja revocation de rtdit de Nantes.
Vol. XIII, 1860, of Histoirede France.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 429

MISCELLANEOUS : L'Enfer Burlesque. — Le Mariage de Belphegor.

Les Epitaphes de M. de Moliere. Cologne, 1677. See Collection
Molieresque, Vol. VI.

MOLAND, Louis. Editor: (Euvres completes de Moliere. Nouvelle
Edition, tres soigneusement revue sur les textes originaux, avec un
travail de critique et d'eYudition : aperc,u d'histoire litte'raire, bio-
graphic, examen de chaque piece, commentaire, bibliographic, etc.
Paris, 1863-1864. 7 vols.

Moliere et la Comedie italienne. Second edition, Paris, 1867.
Vie deJ.-B. P. Moliere. Histoire de son Thedtre et de sa troupe.

Paris, 1892.

MOLIERE, (EUVRES DE : The first complete edition of Moliere's works,
entitled Les CEuvres de Monsieur de Moliere, was edited by Vinot
and La Grange (which see) and published in Paris, in 1682, in 8
vols.

For modern editions see : Aime- Martin, Auger, Despots and
Mesnard, Jouaust, Louandre, Moland, Van Laun, Vinot and
La Grange, Voltaire, and Wormeley.
MOLIERISTE, LE. See Monval.
MONCHESNAY, JACQUES LOSME DE : Bolceana, ou Bon mots de M.

Boileau. Amsterdam, 1742.
MONTFLEURY, ANTOiNE-jACOB : Impromptu de V Hotel de Condi. Paris,

1664. See Collection Molieresque, Vol. XX.
MONVAL, GEORGES. Chronologie Molieresque. Paris, 1897.
Le Laquais de Moliere. Paris, 1887.

Editor: Le Molitriste, a monthly magazine devoted to the study of
Moliere and published during ten years. Paris, 1879-1889. 10 vols.
Editor: Nouvelle Collection Molieresque from 1885 to 1890. See
Lacroix ; also Nouvelle Collection Molieresque, Vols :
XIV. Recueil sur la mort de Moliere.
XV. Lettres au Mercure sur Moliere.
XVI. La Promenade de Saint-Cloud.
XVII. Premier Registre de la Thorilliere.
MUSE HISTORIQUE, LA. See Loret.

NOEL, EUGENE: Le*gendes Francaises : Moltire. Paris, 1852.

Moliere : son the&lre etson manage. Paris, 1880.

NOLHAC, PIERRE DE : La Creation de Versailles, d'aprh les sources
inedits. £tude sur les origines et les premiers transformations du
chateau et des jardins. Ouvrage illustre' de no documents con-
temporains. Versailles, 1901.

Nouvelle Collection Molieresque. This collection was published from
1879 to !884 by Paul Lacroix, and continued from Vol. XIV
(1885) by Georges Monval. It contains reprints, with notes
and notices, of the following works :

430 BIBLIOGRAPHY

I. Oraison funlbre de Moliere by Donneau de Vize*, with a

notice by P.-L. Jacob, Paris, 1879.

II. Mllisse^ attributed to Moliere, with a notice by P.-L. Jacob,
Paris, 1879.

III. Rldt en prose et en vers de la Farce des Prtcieuses by

Mile, des Jardins, with a notice by P.-L. Jacob, Paris,
1879, followed by La Dtroute des Prtcieuses (Subligny).

IV. Le Portrait du Peintre by Edme Boursault, with a notice

by P.-L. Jacob, Paris, 1879.

V. Notes et documents sur VHistoire des Tht&tres de Paris au
XVII sihle by Jean-Nicolas du Tralage edited by P.-L.
Jacob, Paris, 1880.
VI. L? Ombre de Moliere by Guillaume Marcoureau de Bre*court,

with a notice by P.-L. Jacob, Paris, 1880.

VII. La Coupe du Val-de-Grdce. A response to Moliere's poem,
La Gloire du Val-de-Gr&ce, attributed to Mme. CheVon,
with two notices by P.-L. Jacob, Paris, 1880.
VIII. La Folle Querelle, attributed to Moliere and to Adrien-
Thomas Perdou de Subligny, with a preface by P.-L.
Jacob, Paris, 1881.
IX. La Veuve a la mode by Donneau de Vize*, with a notice by

Edouard Thierry, Paris, 1881.

X. Myrtil et Mtlicerte, pastorale, finished by the son of the
widow of Moliere and Gue*rin d'Estriche*, her second hus-
band, with a notice by Edouard Thierry (1669).
XL Pantgyrique de r£cole des femmes (1663), by Charles

Robinet, with a preface by P.-L. Jacob, Paris, 1883.
XII. La Satyre des Satyres, et la Critique dhinttresste sur les
satyres du temps by the Abbe* Charles Cotin, with a notice
by P.-L. Jacob, Paris, 1883.

XIII. Le Mtdecin volant by Edme Boursault, with a notice by

P.-L. Jacob, Paris, 1883.

XIV. Recueil sur la mort de Moliere, Paris, 1885.

In this volume, and thereafter, the notices and notes are by

Georges Monval.
XV. Lettres au Mercure sur Moliere. Sa Vie, ses ceuvres et les

comtdiens de son temps. Paris, 1 887.
XVI. La Promenade de Saint-Cloud by Gabriel Gudret (1669).

Paris, 1888.
XVII. PremierRegistrede la Thorilliere (1663-1664). Paris, 1890.

OLIPHANT, MARGARET OLIPHANT WILSON : Moliere, by Mrs. Oliphant

and F. Tarver. Edinburgh and London, 1879.
OLIVET, PIERRE- JOSEPH THOULIER, ABBE D' : Histoire de VAcadtmie

fran$ oise depuis i6$2jusgu'd 1700. Paris, 1729.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 431

PARFAICT, FRANCOIS AND CLAUDE: Histoire du thtatre fran$ois,
depuis son origine jusqu'a present avec la Vie des plus celebres
poetes dramatiques, un Catalogue exact de leurs pieces, et des Notes
historiques et critiques. Paris, 1745-1749. 15 vols.

PASCAL, BLAISE : Lettres provinciales. First edition, 1656 (without
name of author or place of publication).

PATIN, GUI : Lettres choisies defeu Mr. Guy Patin. Cologne, 1691.

PELLETIER. See Boulan.

PERRAULT, CHARLES : Les Hommes illustres qui ont paru en France
pendant ce siecle : avec leurs Portraits au nature 1. Paris, 1696.
2 vols.
Poquelin de Moliere. See Malassis.

PETIT DE JULLEVILLE, L. : Le Thldtre en France. Histoire de la lit-
terature dramatique depuis ses origines jusqtfd, nos jours. Paris,
1897.

PIFTEAU, BENJAMIN : Les Mattresses de Mohere, amours du grand
comique, leur influence sur son caractere et son oeuvre. Paris,

1879-
Moliere en province^ dtude sur sa troupe ambulante, suivie de

Moliere en voyage. Paris, 1879.
PIJARDIERE, Louis DE LA : Moliere : son stjour a Montpellier en

1654-1655. Montpellier, 1887.

Rapport sur la Dlcouvert d^un autographe de Molttre. Mont-
pellier, 1873.

POISSON, MLLE. : Lettre sur la vie et les ouvrages de Molilre et sur les
come'diens de son temps. Inserted in the Mercure de France for May,
1740.

PURE, ABB£ MICHEL, who dedicated the book under the pseudonym of
Gelasire : La Prfaieuse, ou le Mystere de la ruelle. Paris, 1656-
1658. 4 vols.

RACINE, JEAN : QZuvres, 4 vols. (Collection des Grands Ecrivains de
la France.) Paris.

RACINE, Louis : Memoires contenant quelques particularity's sur la vie
et les ouvrages de Jean Racine. Lausanne and Geneva, 1747.

RAYMOND, EMMANUEL, pseudonym of L. Galibert. Histoire des pert-
grinations de Moliere dans le Languedoc, d'apres des documents
ine'dits, 1642-1658. Paris, 1858.

RAYNAUD, MAURICE : Les Me'decins au temps de Moliere, moeurs, insti-
tutions, doctrines. Paris, 1862.

REGNIER, P. : Le Tartufft des Comediens. Notes sur Tartuffe. Paris,
1896.

432 BIBLIOGRAPHY

RENAUDOT, TH£OPHRASTE. First editor: La Gazette de France.

Established in 1631. 162 vols. published from 1631 to 1792.
RICCOBONI, Louis : Observations sur la Come"die et sur le genie de

Molicre. Paris, 1736.
RIGAL, EUGENE: Alexandre Hardy et le thtdtre franqais a la fin du

XVIe et au commencement du XVIIe siecle. Paris, 1889.
ROBINET, CHARLES: Le Panegyrique de r£cole des femmes, ou Con-
versation comique sur les CEuvres de M. de Moliere. Paris,
1663.

Reprint, 1883, see Nouvclle Collection Molitresque, Vol. XI.
ROCHEMONT, B. A., SlEUR DE : Observations sur une comedie de

Moliere intitule" e le Festin de Pierre. Paris, 1665. See Collection

Molitresque, Vol. XII.
ROEDERER, PIERRE- Louis, COMTE : Mtmoire pour servir a rhistoire

de la socie'te' polie en France. Paris, 1835.
ROULLE, PIERRE : Le Roi glorieux au inonde (qui est la gloire du

monde), ou Louis XIV, le plus glorieux de tous les rots du monde.

Paris, 1664. See Collection Molitresque, Vol. II.

SAINTE-BEUVE, CHARLES-AUGUSTIN : Causeries du lundi. Paris, 1851-
1857. 13 vols.

Port-Royal, published from 1840 to 1859. Sixth edition, Paris, 1901.

6 vols.

SAINT-REMY. See Boulan.

SAINT-SIMON, Louis DE ROUVROI, Due DE : £crits intdits de Saint-
Simon, publics sur les manuscrits conserve's au Ddpot des Affaires

arangeres par M. P. Faugere. Vol. VI, Paris, 1883.
SAUVAL, HENRI : Histoire et Recherches des antiquite's de la mile de

Paris. Paris, 1724. 3 vols.
SCARRON, PAUL: Les Nouvelles tragi-comiques. Paris, 1655-1661.

Le Roman comique. Paris, 1651. 2 vols.
SCHLEGEL, AUGUST WILHELM : Lectures on Dramatic Art, translated

by John Black. London, 1904.

SCUDERY, MADELEINE DE: A rtamlne, ou le Grand Cyrus. Paris, 1649-
53. 10 vols.

Clelie. Paris, 1656. 10 vols.
SEGRAIS, JEAN REGNAULD DE : Segraisiana, ou Melange d'histoire et

de littdrature. Paris, 1721-1722. 2 vols.
SOLEIROL, H.-A. : Moliere et sa troupe. Paris, 1858.
SOMAIZE, ANTOINE BAUDEAU DE : Le Grand Dictionnaire des Pre-
cieuses, ou la Clef de la Langue des ruelles. Paris, 1660.

Les Vtritables Prtcieuses. Paris, 1660. See Collection Molitresque,

Vol. IX.
SOREL, CHARLES, SIEUR DE SOUVIGNY : La Vraye histoire comique de

Fran$ion. Paris, 1622-33.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 433

SouLifi. EUDORE : Recherches sur Moliere et sur sa famille. Paris,

1863.
SUBLIGNY, ADRIEN-THOMAS, PERDOU DE. See Nouvelle Collection

Molitresque, Vols. Ill and VIII.

TALLEMANT DES R£AUX, GIDEON : Les Historiettes. Paris, 1833.

Written in 1657, although additions were made from 1659 to 1672.

Third edition, Paris, 1854-1860. 9 vols.
TARVER, FRANCIS. See Oliphant.

TASCHEREAU, JULES-ANTOINE : Histoire de la me et des outrages de
Moliere. Paris, 1825.

Histoire de la vie et des outrages de P. Corneille. Paris, 1855.
THIERRY, £DOUARD : Registre de la Grange (1658-1 685) prtcide" d?itne
Notice biographique (by this author). Publie' par les soins de la
Come'die Francaise. January, 1876.

See Nouvelle Collection Molitresque, Vols. IX and X.
THOINAN, ERNEST : Un Bisaieul de Moliere, recherches sur les Mazuel,

musiciens des XVIe et XVI le siecles, allies de la famille de Poque-

lin. Paris, 1878.

THORILLIERE. See La Thorilliere.
TRALAGE, JEAN-NICOLAS DE: Notes et documents sur Vhistoire des

theatres de Paris aux XVII siecle. Paris, 1880. See also Nouvelle

Collection Molitresque, Vol. V.
TROLLOPE, HENRY M.: The Life of Moliere. London and New York,

1905.

VAN LAUN, HENRI. English translator : The Dramatic Works of J. B.
Poquelin- Moliere. Prefatory memoir, introductory notices, appen-
dices, and notes. Edinburgh, 1878. 6 vols.

VESELOVSKAYO, ALEKSIEIA : Etudy o Molierie. Tartuffe. Istoria
tipa i piesy. Moscow, 1879.

VILLEDIEU. See Jardins.

VINCENT, LEON HENRY: Hotel de Rambouillet and the Prtcieuses.

Boston, 1900.
Moliere. Boston, 1902.

VINOT. Editor (with Charles Varlet de la Grange) : Les CEuvres de
Monsieur de Moltire, revues, corrige'es, et augmentdes; enrichies
de figures en taille-douce (grav. par Sauv£, d'apres P. Brissart).
Paris, 1682. 8 vols.

VITU, AUGUSTE : La Maison mortuaire de Moliere, d'apres des Docu-
ments ine"dits. Paris, 1880.
Le Jeu de paume des Mestayers^ ou 1'Illustre Theatre. Paris,

1883.
See Fournier (Etudes sur la Vie . . . de Moliere).

434 BIBLIOGRAPHY

VOLTAIRE, FRANCOIS-MARIE AROUET DE, Editor : (Euvres de Moliere.
Nouvelle Edition augmente'e de la Vie de 1'auteur et des remarques
historiques et critiques. Amsterdam and Leipzig, 1765. 6 vols.
Commentaries. Vol. X, (Euvres completes de Voltaire. Paris, 1828.
Sihle de Louis XIV. Paris, 1 75 1 .

Vie de Afoltire, avec des jugements sur ses outrages. Paris, 1 739.
VON COSSEL, LOUISE. See Mantzius.

WILLIAMS, HUGH NOEL: Queens of the French Stage. New York,

1905.
WORMELEY, KATHARINE PRESCOTT. English translator: Moltire.

Seventeen of Moliere's plays, Boston, 1894. 6 vols.

UNIVERSITY

INDEX

Aime'-Martm, 1 14 note a.

Alceste, the character of, 57, 256-
278,310,317,332,352-

Alexander, 307.

Allainval, Abbe* d', 360 note.

Allier, Raoul, on the original of
TartuSe, 217.

Amants magnifiques, Les, see Mag-
nificent Lovers, The.

Amour mtdecin, L\ see Love as a
Doctor.

Amphitruo, source of Amphitryon,

333-

Amphitryon, 124, 333~335-
Andreini, Francesco, 60.

Isabella, 60.

Andromeda, 46, 47, 48.

Anselme, 60.

Aretino, Pietro, 218.

Argan, 57.

Armand, Pierre-Jean-Baptiste-, son

of Moliere, 359 note *, 368.
Assoucy, Charles Coypeau d', 70-72.
Aubry, Jean, husband of Genevieve

Be>rt, 373.

Aulularta, source of The Miserly).
Avare, L\ see Miser, The.

Bachaumont, 70, 72, 106.

Ballet of the Incompatible* y The,

77, 105.
Baluffe, 149.
Barbieri, Nicol6, 60.

Barine, Madame, xvii.

Baron, Michel, a protdge* of Moliere,
243-245, 318, 321, 322, 323, 370-
375; Armande Bdjart and, 360-

363-

Bary, 9.

Basilisco del Bernagasso, II, see
Basilisk of Bernagasso, The.

Basilisk of Bernagasso^ The, a
source of The Hypocrite, 218.

Bayle, xiii, 333.

Bazin, M. A., 142, 199.

Becque, Henri, 257.

Beffara, xiii, 142.

Bejart, Armande, her family, 21 ;
relations with Moliere, 135-154;
youth of, 140; parentage, 141;
marriage with Moliere, 147 ; per-
sonality, 150, 155 ; in " The Pleas-
ures of the Enchanted Isle," 194-
196; matrimonial misconduct,
235-253 ; reconciliation with Moli-
£re, 359, 360; Baron and, 360,
362; Moliere's last days with,
368; marriage with Gue'rin, 378.

Genevieve, 27, 35, 47, 324.

Joseph, father of Madeleine

Be>rt, 21.

Joseph, the younger, 21, 24,

26, 27, 35, 47, 72, 89, 90, 91.

Louis, 47, 72, 195, 233.

Madeleine, her relations with

Moliere, 19-48, 137; treasurer
of Moliere's troupe, 68 ; descrip-
tion of, 71, 72; lease of The'atre
du Marais, 84; plays Magdelon,

438

INDEX

114; influence of, 154; her estate,
324; characterised in The Ver-
sailles Impromptu, 364; death,

365-367.

Beltrame, see Barbieri, Nicol6.

Bergerac, Cyrano de, as fellow stu-
dent of Moliere, 15; 46 note1;
inspires Love as a Doctor, 255 ; in-
spires The Tricked Pedant, 351.

Bergerac, Cyrano de, 11, 45, 46
note *.

Bernier, Franpois, 15.

Berthelot, Rend, 41.

Beys, Charles, 27.

Bible, the, as a source of French
tragedy in the seventeenth cen-
tury, xix.

Blunderer, The-, or, The Mishaps,
Moliere's first successful comedy
in verse, 45, 50; played at Lyons,
48, 49; an adaptation, 55, 62;
representing Moliere's Italian
period, 58 ; following Corneille,
59; source, 60; plot, 61 ; human
sentiment in, 64 ; and The Love
Tiff, 78 ; termination of run, 92 ;
a command performance at the
Louvre, 100; the result of re-
search, 128; slavishly transal-
pine, 331.

Boccaccio, suggested in Smutty
Face, 52; situations in The
School for Husbands derived
from, 128; as a source of The
Hypocrite, 218; as a source of
George Dandin, 338.

Boileau, and Moliere, I, 51, 146,
169, 200, 278, 285, 302, 306-329,
359, 370, 376.

Boissat, Pierre de, 48, 69.

Boissat, Life of Pierre de, 69.

Bonnenf ant^ Nicolas, 27.

Bores, The, 55, 131, 133, 134, 135,
189, 196, 314-

Bossuet, i, 374.

Bourbon, Armand de, see Conti,
Prince of.

Bourdaloue, i.

Bourgeois, Catherine, 34-36.

Bourgeois gentilhomme, Le, see
Burgher, The, a Gentleman.

Boursault, 1/4, 175, 177-

BrantSme, 82.

Brdcourt, De, 156, 326.

BreVille, Jacques Onfroy de, xiv.

Brie, Mile, de, and Moliere, 43, 44,
47, 65, 78, 81, 137, 145, 243, 253;
as Cathos in Les Prlcieuses ridi-
cules, 114; in "The Pleasures of
the Enchanted Isle," 194, 196.

Brossette, xiii, 222, 285, 309, 310,
326, 376 note1, 377 note.

Bruyere, La, xviii, i, 363.

Burgher, The, a Gentleman, a his-
trionic play, 57, 199, 332; de-
scribed in Armande Bejart, 151 ;
produced before the court at
Chambord, 198, 348; presenting a
picture of Rohault, 321 ; inspira-
tion of title, 344.

Byron, 154, 227, 338.

Calvimont, Mme. de, 66, 67, 80.

Campan, Mme., 187.

Casaque, La, see Cassock, The.

Cassock, The, 52.

Cathos, 107.

Chalussay, Le Boulanger de, on
Moliere and L'Orvietan, 9 ; on
Moliere and the law, 16; satire
on Moliere, £lomire Hypochon-
driac, by, 19, 87, 290, 298; on
Armande Bejart, 142.

Chapelle, Claude, 14, 15, 70, 72,
106, 137, 149, 249, 250, 275, 306-

329» 369-
Chappuzeau, xiii.
Charpentier, 304.
Charpy, as original of Tartuffe,

214.

Chasteauneuf, 47.
Chateauneuf, Abbe de, 217.

INDEX

439

Chatfield-Taylor, Mr. H. C, xv

xxiv, xxv.

Chevalier, 174, note2.
Chorier, Nicolas, 69.
Cid, the, xx.
Claveau, Marie, 89.
Ctelie, 60, 63.
Clerin, Germain, 27, 34.
Clermont, College of, attendance of

Moliere at, 12-14.
Colbert, 324.
Comic Romance, Scarron's, de-
scriptive of travelling players,
38-41.

Comtesse d?Escarbagnas, The, a his-
trionic play, 198, 199, 349.
Conde, on persecution of Moliere,

220.
Conti, Prince of, 65, 66, 67, 73, 79,

80, 167, 215.
Conti, the Prince of, the comedians

of, 65-83.
Coquelin, Constant, on Moliere,

276, 277, 335.
Cormier, 66.

Corneille, xviii, xix, xx, I, 30,
46, 59, 82, 85, 88, 179, 198,
332.

Cosnac, Abbe* Daniel de, 66, 67.
Co tin, Abb£, 355.
Couthon, 374.

Crane, T. F., xvii-xxv, 308.
Cresse*, Marie, 3-6.
Criticism of the School for Wives,

The, 169-173, 329.
Critique de V £cole desfemmes, La,
see Criticism of the School for
Wives.

Croisac, 81, 89.

Croisy, Du, an actor in Moliere's
company, 89, 194; a character
in The Criticism of the School
for Wives, 177; a character
in Les Prtcieuses ridicules, 107,
114.

Croisy, du, Mile., 81.
Cupidity, 78.

Dandin, George, first performance,
198; a histrionic play, 199, 336-
338, 348; reference to Armande
Bdjart, 238.

Depit amoureux, Le, see Love Tiff,

The.
Descartes, 313, 318, 320, 368.

Desden con el desden, El, see Scorn
with Scorn.

Despois, Eugene, xii, xiii, 294 note \

Desurlis, Catherine, 27.

Docteur amoureux:, Le, see Physi-
cian in Love, The.

Doctor in Spite of Himself, The,
motive of, 53; a histrionic play,
57 ; as a medical satire, 279, 291-
294, 3°3-

Dolt, The, 60.

Don Garcia of Navarre; or, The
Jealous Prince, 122, 123, 124,
153-

Don Garde de Navarre ou le Prince
jaloux, see Don Garcia of Na-
varre; or, The Jealous Prince.

Don Juan; or, The Feast of Stone,
first produced, 224; source, 224;
and Shakespeare, 225 ; a picture
of the old regime, 225-230 ; ridi-
culing medicine, 283, 284; dis-
regard of dramatic canon, 343.

Don Juan, ou le festin de pierre,
see Don Juan; or, The Feast of
Stone.

Donnay, Maurice, 257.

Dottor bacchettone, II, see Hypo-
critical Doctor, The.

Dufort, Martin-Melchoir, 72, 73.

Dufresne, Charles, 24, 41, 42, 47,
48, 81, 89.

Dumas, Alexandre,y?/r, 257.

Echegaray, 257.

Ecole desfemmes, D, see School for
Wives, The.

440

INDEX

Ecole des marts, L\ see School for

Husbands, The.
Eguise', L', see Bejart, Louis^
Elomire hypocondre, see Elomire

Hypochondriac.
Elomire Hypochondriac, a satire on

Moliere by Le Boulanger de

^Chalussay, 19, 87, 290 note1, 298.

E'pernon, Duke of, as patron of

Moliere, 36-49.
Eraste, 57, 78.
Esprit, Madeleine, daughter of

Moliere, 358, 378.
Espy, Del', 89, 90, 181.
Estang, Cyprien Ragueneau de P,

45, 46, 48.
Etourdi, L', on les Contretemps, see

Blunderer, The; or, The Mis-
haps.

Fdcheux, Les, see Bores, The.

Fagot Gatherer, The, 52, 294.

Fagotier, Le, see Fagot Gatherer,
The.

Fail, Noel du, 82.

Fameuse comedienne, La, see Fa-
mous Comedienne, The.

Famous Comedienne, The, an attack
upon Madame de Moliere, 19, 20,
141, 150, 239-242, 249, 360, 362,
363-

Farce, The, at the beginning of
Moliere's career, 50, 51.

Favori, Le, see Favourite, The.

Favourite, The, 190.

Femmes savantes, Les, see Learned
Women, The.

Fdnelon, I.

Feuillade, Due de la, 174.

Fillon, Benjamin, 377.

Fiurelli, Tiberio, see Scaramouche.

Flying Physician, The, 52, 53, 58,

119* 279-

Fontaine, La, I, 302, 306, 315-317,
378 note x.

Foolish Quarrel, The-, or, The Criti-
cism of Andromachus, 308.

Forced Marriage, The, 55, 119, 189,
197, 235, 237, 254.

Forest, La, 326, 327.

Fouquet, xxv, 129-133, 315.

Fourberies de Scapin, Les, see Ras-
calities of Scapin, The.

Fournier, fedouard, 140, 143, 153.

Galibert, M., 74, 75, 78 note1.

Gallois, J.-L. le, see Grimarest.

Gassendi, as teacher of Moliere, 15.

Gassot, Philibert, 89.

Gaultier-Garguille, 8.

Gelosi, the, troupe of Italian come-
dians, 60.

Gdly, Maitre, 75, 76.

Ge'nin, 150.

Gioannelli, Bonvicino, 218.

Gloire du Val-de-Grdce, La, see
Glory of the Val-de-Grdce, The.

Glory of the Val-de-Grdce, The,

323-325-

Gorgibus dans le sac, see Gorgibus
in the Bag.

Gorgibus in the Bag, 52.

Goudouli, 69.

Grimarest, Life of Moliere by, xii,
xxii, 9, 17, 19, 45, 67, 105, 106,
136, 142, 243, 248, 313, 314, 320,
322, 323, 326, 327, 359, 361, 362,
368, 371-375, 377, 378.

Gros Guillaume, 8, 10.

Gros-Rene', see Pare, du; a char-
acter in The Love Tiff, 78.

Gros-Ren^ : A School-boy, 52.

Gros-Rene: tcalier, see Gros-Rene" :
a School-boy.

Gros-Rene">s Jealousy, 52.

Groto, Luigi, 60.

Gudnegaud, Theatre, 379.

Guerin, the second husband of
Madame de Moliere, 19, 378.

Guiche, Comte de, 240, 241, 251,275.

Guillot-Gorju, 8, 10, 115, 279.

INDEX

44!

Hamlet, resemblance of Alceste to
276.

Hauptmann, Gerhardt, 257.

Hermite, Francois Tristan 1', 24.

, Jean-Baptiste Tristan P, 21

24, 47.

Hervd, Marie, mother of the Bdjarts,
21, 27, 41, 141, 143, 147, 148, 364.

Hervieu, Paul, 257.

Hesnault, early acquaintance of,
with Moliere, 15.

Hippolyte, 60, 61, 62.

Homme a bonnes fortunes, L\
363-

H6tel de Bourgogne, famed come-
dians of, 8, 10; description of, n ;
afterpieces at, 50, 52; Moliere's
rivals at, 97, 155, 157, 179; Ra-
cine and, 307 ; amalgamation with
the Theatre Gudnegaud, 379.

du Petit Bourbon, connection

of Moliere with, n, 12, 52, 86;
Moliere's delDut at, 87; in sole
possession, 91 ; 95, 106.

Houssaye, Arsene, 138.

Hubert, 194, 232, 233.

Hypocrite, The, distinguishes Moli-
ere's period of aggression, 56;
first public production, 98; use
of material from Don Garcia of
Navarre, 124; performed in
"The Pleasures of the En-
chanted Isle," 196, 197 note ;
knight-errantry in, 202 ; plot, 202-
212; the Jesuits, the Jansenists,
and, 212-215, 223 ; compared
with The Misanthrope, 255; re-
ceipts from, 275; its run, 294;
treatment of the physicians, 295;
humanity in, 305 ; La Forest
portrayed in, 327; classic des-
potism, 334; poetic insight in,
335; and The Miser, 339; and
The Learned Women, 353.
Hypocrite, The, an Italian comedy
by Pietro Aretino, 218.

Hypocritical Doctor, The, as a

source of The Hypocrite, 218.

Ibsen, 257.

" Illustrious Theatre, The," organ-
isation of, 26 ; members, 27, 28 ;
installed in Paris, 31 ; the end of,
345 67.

Imaginary Invalid, The, a his-
trionic play, 57; as a comedy
ballet, 198; presented at the
Palais Royal, 199, 370; a mili-
tant comedy, 199 ; a medical sat-
ire, 279, 299-305 ; model for pert
servant in, 327 ; one of its char-
acters inspired by Moliere's
daughter, 358 ; means of reunion
between Moliere and his wife,
360; Moliere stricken with last
illness while playing in, 374.

Imposteur, L\ see Impostor, The.

Impostor, The, substituted as title
of The Hypocrite, 222.

Impromptu de Versailles, Ly, see
Versailles Impromptu, The.

Tnawertito, L', see Dolt, The.

Tnteresse, Z,', see Cupidity.

Ipocrito, L\ by Pietro Aretino, see
Hypocrite, The.

al, M. A., xiii, 141.
Jalousie du barbouillS, La, see
Jealousy of Smutty Face, The.
Jalousie du Gros-Rene", La, see

Gros-Ren^s Jealousy.
ansenists, and Jesuits, 212-216.
ardins, Mile, des, 190.
fealousy of Smutty Face, The, 52,

58, 338.

esuits, and Jansenists, 212-216.
Jocular Nights, The, 162.
odelet, an actor in Moliere's com-
pany, 89, 1 14.

, Vicomte de, a character iu

Les Prdcieuses ridicules, 1 1 5.

442

INDEX

Jonsac, Marquis de, 360.
Jusserand, J. J., xiv.

La Grange, xii, 45, 46, 88, 89, 95,
99, 106, 136, 147, 150, 157, 175
note, 190, 194, 231, 307, 326,
370, 374-

La Grange, in Les Prtcieuses Ridi-
cules^ 107, 114.

Larroumet, Gustave, on Moliere,
xiii, 200, 232, 256, 329, 364.

Lauzun, Comte de, 240, 241.

Le'andre, 61, 62.

Learned Women, The, a histrionic
play, 57, 353-356; and Don
Garcia of Navarre, 124; Boileau
and, 359.

Ldlie, 60, 61, 62.

Lessing, 218.

Lestang, see Estang, Cyprien Rague-
neau de 1*.

Liar, The, 59.

Limoges, 44.

Livet, Ch. L., 203 note.

Loiseleur, Jules, 73 note, 143, 148,
154, 325 note, 326, 373 note1.

Loret, on Moliere, xiii, 90 ; on The
School for Husbands, 1 28 ; on
The School for Wives, 168.

Louis XIII, Moliere in the suite of,
17, 18; 59.

Louis XIV, xvii, I, 86, 92, 94, too,
124, 130-134, 146, 155, 156, 175
note, 184, 185, 198, 199, 200,
215, 219, 222, 223, 254, 309, 335,

347, 370, 375, 376, 379-

Love as a Doctor, as a comedy
ballet, 197; a militant comedy,
199, 254, 255 ; a satire on the
physicians, 279, 285-290, 303.

Love Tiff, The, representing the
Italian period, 58, 79; subjective-
ness in, 78 ; first performance in
Paris, 88; played before Louis
XIV, 90 ; termination of run, 92,

94; played at the Palais Royal,

121.

Lucretius, influence of, upon Mo-
liere, 1 6, 266.

Lully, Giovanni Battista, 190 note 2,
198, 254, 304, 370, 378.

Lyons, 45, 46, 48, 59, 60, 64, 65, 7°,
74-

Macette, a source of The Hypocrite,

218.
Magnificent Lovers, The, 198, 199,

332.

Magnon, Jean, 36.
Maintenon, Madame de, 379.
Maltre d>tcole,Le, see School-master,

The.

Malingre, Magdale, 27.
Mansfield, Richard, xxv, 62.
Mantzius, Karl, Molttre and his

Times by, xiii, 71.
Marais, Theatre du, 89, 379.
Mareschal, Andre*, 27, 37.
Mariageforct, Le, see Forced Mar-
riage, The.
Martiniere, Bruzen de la, xiii, 174

note *, 347 note.
Martinozzi, Anna, 65.
Mascarille, the character of, 53, 54,

55, 57, 61, 62, 78, 107, 108, no,

119.
Mazarin, 65, 78, 79, 82, 91, 100, 124,

200.
Mtdecin malgrt lui, Le, see Doctor

in Spite of Himself , The.
Mtdecin volant, Le, see Flying

Physician, The.
Medico volant e, II, 53.
Mtlicerte, 197, 199, 244.
Manage, 355.
Menander, 82.
Menoux, Mile., 47.
Menteur, Le, xx.
Meredith, George, 120.
Me*rou, Henri, 357.
Mesnard, Paul, a biographer of

INDEX

443

Moliere, xii, xiii, 29, 36, 72 note l,
123, 175 note, 214, 242, 246, 276,
293, 294, 302, 308, 31 7 note, 335,
36o, 377, 378.

Mignard, Nicolas, 70.

, Pierre, 70, 82, 324, 325, 329.

Misanthrope, The, containing pas-
sage from Lucretius, 16; distin-
guishing Moliere's period of ag-
gression, 56, 57; inspiration, 124;
subjectivity, 166, 255, 277 ; trav-
esty of the Due de Montausier,
1 88; and The Hypocrite, 212;
reference to Armande Be'jart, 238 ;
the greatest of French comedies,
255 ; characters, 256, 257 ; sum-
mary, 257-274; first presented,
274; subjectiveness, 277 ; Voltaire
on, 294 ; and The Imaginary In-
valid, 305 ; popularity to-day,
331; classic despotism in, 334;
showing poetic insight, 335 ; and
The Miser, 339 ; and The Learned
Women, 353.

Miser, The, a histrionic play, 57,
332 ; plot, 339-343-

Mithridales, 370.

Modene, Baron de, 20, 23, 24, 31,
32, 47, 143.

Moland, Louis, La Vie de J.-B.

Moliere, by, xiii, 88, 187 ; on

tDon Juan; or, The Feast of

Stone, 22$ ; on The Tricked

Pedant, 351.

Moliere, Jean-Baptiste, place among
French writers of, i ; birth of, 2 ;
parentage of, 3-7 ; early life of,
6-1 8; at the college of Clermont,
12-14; as pupil of Gassendi, 15,
1 6 ; as student of law, 16 ; in the
suite of Louis XIII, 17, 18 ; asso-
ciation with Madeleine Be'jart,
19-48; beginning of theatrical
career, 25 ; ddbut at " The Illus-
trious Theatre," 25-34 ; a strolling
player, with "^The Comedians of
the Duke of Epernon," 35-49 ; as

a farceur, 50-64 ; period of Italian
influence, 52-55, 58-64; second,
or Gallic, period, 55 ; third, or
obsequious, period, 55, 56; fourth,
or period of aggression, 56 ; social
standing, 69 ; fifth, or histrionic,
period, 56, 331-357; the creator
of French comedy, 59 ; under the
patronage of the Prince of Conti,
65-80; Parisian success, 84-100;
first appearance at court, 85, 86 ;
installed at the Palais Royal, 121;
secure in the royal favour, 134;
marriage with Armande Be'jart,
147; marital experience, 155-177 ;
as a courtier, 181-201 ; the poet
militant, 202-230; health breaks
down, 223, 245 ; theatrical and
domestic life, 231-253 ; personal-
ity, 245, 246, 247, 323, 327, 328,
329; compared with Shakespeare,
253, 356, 357 ; Louis, eldest son,
born, 240; personal experience in
The Misanthrope, 277 ; warfare
against the physicians, 279-305;
friends, 306-330; as a naturalist,
334; Madeleine-Esprit, daughter,
358> 3735 third child, Pierre-
Jean-Bap tiste-Armand, 359 note1,
368; reunion with wife, 359, 360;
death, 365, 366, 370-374 5 his
philosophy, 369.

Moliere, Mile., see Armande Be'jart.

Molina, Tirso de, as a source of
Don Juan; or, The Feast of Stone,
224; as a source of Love as a
Doctor, 255.

Monchesnay, 302.

Mondorge, 322, 323.

Montaigne and Moliere, 82, 1 17, 1 18.

Montalant, husband of Madeleine-
Esprit, 378.

Montausier, Due de, 188, 278.

Montespan, 335.

Montfleury, 142, 146, 179.

Monval, Georges, xiii,xxiii, 8l note,
248 note, 327 note.

444

INDEX

Nantes, 41.

Neufvillenaine, 93.

Nicomedes, 85.

Nouvelle des Hypocrites, La, s

Novel of the Hypocrites, The.
Novel of the Hypocrites, The, as

source of The Hypocrite, 218.

Octave, 350.

Orgemont, D'u.

Orgon, in The Hypocrite, 202-21

216.

Orlando Furioso, 193.
Oronte, in The Misanthrope, 262

263-268, 271, 272, 295.
Orsino, 274.
Orvie'tan, L', 9.

Palais Royal, theatre, 121, 122.

Pandolfe, 60.

Pare, Du, and Moliere, 41, 43, 47,
54, 81, 89, 93, 195, 232; his wife
and Moliere, 43, 44, 65, 67, 78, 8r
89» 137, I95» 196; his wife anc
Corneille, 82 ; and Racine, 308.

Parfaict, the Brothers, xiii.

Pascal, xviii, i, 213.

Pedant jout, Le, see Tricked Pe-
dant, The.

Perefixe, Hardouin de, 222, 223.

Perrault, xiii, 26.

Physician in Love, The, 52, 86, 87,
279.

Physicians, the, attacked by Moliere
in Love as a Doctor, 279, 285-
29 1 » 303 ? in The Doctor in Spite
of Himself, 279, 291-294, 303; in
Monsieur de Pourceaugnac, 279,
295-298, 303 ; in The Imaginary
Invalid, 279, 298-305; in The
Flying Physician, 279; in The
Physician in Love, 279.

Piacevoli notte, see Jocular Nights,
The.

Pinel, George, 26, 27.

Plaideurs, Les, see Pleaders, The.

Plautus, 60, 62, 82, 117,333,339.

Pleaders, The, 307.

Poisson, Mile., 81, 246.

Pons, Abbe* de, as original of Tar-
tuff e, 215.

Pont-Neuf, 8.

Poquelin, Catherine, half-sister of
Moliere, 373 note1.

Poquelin, Jean, 3-6, 34, 35, 84, 321,

Portrait, The; or, Harlequin

Horned by Opinion, 121.
Portrait du peintre, ou la Contre-

critique de rZcole des femmes,

see Portrait of the Painter, The;

or, The Counter-Criticism of the

School for Wives.
Portrait of the Painter, The; or,

The Counter. Criticism of the

School for Wives, 174, 175,

Pourceaugnac, Monsieur de, written
to revenge treatment at Limoges,
45 ; occasion of, 198 ; as a medical
satire, 279, 295-298, 303.

Precaution inutile, La, see Useless
Precaution, The.

Prtcieuses ridicules, Les, represent*
ing Moliere's Gallic period, 55;
first true dramatic picture of triv-
ial occurrences of French life, 59-
country ladies in, 78; first per-
formance in Paris, 92-95, 99,
100 ; derivation of title, 101-106;
construction, \io7-i 12; first per-
formance, Ii\3-ii5; a dramatic
landmark, 117; the standard of
truth, 120; the result of observa-
tion, 128.
rincess d 'glide, La, see Princess
ofElis, The.
rincess ofElis, The, 191, 192.

seudolus, 62.

INDEX

445

Psyche, 198, 199, 332, 359, 362.
Pure, Abbs' de, 106, 115.

Quinault, collaborates with Moliere,
198, 332.

Rabel, Germain, 34.

Rabelais, 55, 82.

Racine, xix, I, 50, 141, 200, 215,

306, 307-317, 334, 370.
Ragueneau, Marie, 45, 46, 89.
Rambouillet, Marquise de, 101-104,

113, 114.
Rascalities of Scapin, The, as a

histrionic play, 57, 350-352.
Ratabon, 95.
Raymond, Emmanuel, see Gali-

bert, M.

Raynaud, on the Faculty of Medi-
cine of Paris, 281, 282.
Re"aux, Tallemant des, author of

Historiettes, xiii, 20.
Rebellion, Pierre, 41 .
Regnier, 218.
Riccoboni, Louis, 120.
Rice, Mr. Wallace, xv.
Richelieu, Abbe* de, 239, 240, 241.
Richelieu, Cardinal, 25, 77, 96.
Ritratto owero Arlechino cornufo

peropinione, II, see Portrait, The;

or, Harlequin Horned by Opinion.
Robinet, xiii, 179, 183, 361.
Rochefoucauld, La, xviii, I.
Rochelle, Mile., 68.
Roederer, 105, 106, 335.
Rohault, Jacques, 248, 320, 321,

329-
Roman, comique, Le, see Comic

Romance.
Roquette, as original of Tartuffe,

214.
Rose*, Catherine du, see Brie,

Mile. de.

Rostand, Edmond, n, 45, 46 note1.
Rouen, 29, 30, 80, 82.
Roulle", Pierre, 219.

Sainte-Beuve, 66, note *, 180, 203.

Saint-Simon, 187, 188.

Sancho Panza, Moliere in part of,
327.

Sardou, 257.

Sarrasin, 66, 79, 105.

Sauval, 87.

Scaramouche, relations with Moli-
ere as Moliere's teacher, n, 12;
in // Medico volante, 53 ; origin
of stage name, 54, 86, 155.

Scarron, Comic Romance by, 38-41,
95, 153, 162.

School for Husbands, The, Gallic
point of view in, 55; Sganarelle
in, 119; construction, 126, 127;

. Moliere's first pure comedy, 127 ;

as a subjective play, 128, 139,

157 ; compared with The School

for Wives, \ £3 ; Voltaire on the

denouement of, 162.

School for Wives, The, Gallic
character of, 55; a biographical
document, 155-180, 235, 237; the
hypocrites and, 222 ; Racine and,
308.

School-master, The, 52.

Scorn with Scorn, 192.

Scudery, Madeleine de, a competi-
tor of Madame de RambouiHet,
104, 105 ; and Les Prtcieuses
Ridicules, 107, 1 12; on George
Dandin, 198.

Secchi, Nicol6, 78, 79.

Segrais, 80, 116.

Sganarelle, character of, 53, 54, 55,
56, 57, 119, 126, 157, 226, 229,
255, 283; in The Misanthrope,
255; in The Doctor in Spite of
Himself, 291-293, 333 ; 309.

Sganarelle, ou le Cocu imaginaire,

446

INDEX

see Sganarelle; or, The Imagi-
nary Cockold.

Sganarelle; or, The Imaginary
Cockold, 93, 94, 115, 119, 120, 121,

332-
Shakespeare, Moliere and, xx, xxi,

154, 191,277, 356,357.
Shelley, 154.
Sicilian, The; or, Love as a Painter,

197, 198.
Sicilien, ou F Amour peintre, Le,

see Sicilian, The; or, Love as a

Painter.
Soulie, Eudore, xiii, 5, 141 note a,

321 note1, 322, 368,369,373.
Straparola, 162.
Strindberg, 257.
Subligny, 308.
Sudermann, 257.

Tabarin, 308, 352 note *.
Tartuffe, Le, see Hypocrite, The.
Taschereau, Jules, 76 note \
Terence, 82, 117, 128.
Thackeray, 185.

Theatre du Marais, II, 84, 379.
Thtbaide, La, see Thebaid, The.
Thebaid, The, 50, 307.
Thorilliere, La, 156, 195.
Three Rival Doctors, The, 52.
Tricked Pedant, The, source of

The Rascalities of Scapin, 351.
Trots docteurs rivaux, Les, see

Three Rival Doctors, The.
Trollope, Henry M., The Life of

Molttre by, xiii.
True and the False Pricieuse, The,
,v 1 1 6.

Trufaldin, 61, 62, 63.
Turlupin, 8.

U
Useless Precaution, The, 162.

Varlet, Charles, see La Grange.

Vasseur, Abbd le, 306.

Vauselle, see Hermite, Jean-Bap-

tiste Tristan 1'.
Vayer, La Mothe le, sonnet to, by

Moliere, 324, 325, 358; charac-
ter, 369.
Vega, Lope de, as a source from

which Moliere drew, 128, 294.
Versailles Impromptu, The, xxv,

55, 175. 179, 189, 235, 257, 364-
Vienne, 48.
Vinot, xii, 89, 1 06.
Vitu, Auguste, 368.
Viz£, De, xiii, 168, 173, 174, 179,

1 88, 328.
Voltaire, on Moliere, i ; on Don

Garcia, 122, 123; on The School

for Husbands, 125 ; on The School

for Wives, 162, 163.
Vraye et fausse prtcieuse, La, see

True and the False Prfcieuse,

The.

Williams, H. Noel, 239.

Ztlinde, De Vizd's comedy of, 328,
329.

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